Heritage Presbyterian Church

Love Grows Here

Sunday’s Sermon – Transformed – Romans 12:1-8

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“80 percent of life is just showing up.” This well-known quote, often attributed to actor and director Woody Allen, indicates the importance of presence in life. And it makes sense, after all, you can’t get ahead if you aren’t there to receive it. In times of crisis, a friend’s simple presence is often worth the most. A child or teenager in a school production or sporting event will scan the crowd for a familiar face to cheer them on. Showing up matters.

“Present your bodies as a living and holy sacrifice” Paul writes. It’s the ancient version of this quote, reminding believers of the importance of showing up for God. Here in Romans, Paul lays out that how we engage our physical selves is a reflection of our faith. He puts it in terms that believers in Rome would understand, referencing practices of sacrifice. But, instead of a specific animal brought to the temple, Paul calls it a “living sacrifice,” a phrase that plays on what is known with something new. For Paul, our presence is not some sacrifice that ends in death, but instead is a consecration or dedication to the will and work of God that is live-giving. It marks renewal and wholeness, and is even included in many of our communion prayers as a sign that we wish to be made new by God at Christ’s table. And so we present ourselves, freely and openly, trusting that when we show up, God does too.

But, as another clichéd phrase goes, “showing up is half the battle.” For Paul, there is more to embodied faith than just physical presence. It also involves an opening of the mind. This week, my yoga instructor began class as always by calling our attention to deepening our breath as we centered ourselves to begin our practice together. She indicated an essential part to yoga is the combined presence of body and mind, encouraging us to be both physically present and mentally present in the space. She explained that in doing so, we would be able to do more than if we just mimicked her poses with our own bodies. By thinking about what we were doing, we would be able to do more. She’s right, of course. It’s one thing to sit on a yoga mat or in a pew, for example, and another to make the mental effort to sit tall. Try it with a bit of mindfulness in the next few moments: elongate the spine, imagining space between the vertebrae, like a string is pulling you up from the top of the head, while your shoulder blades are being drawn down away from your ears. Can you feel the difference even with just a bit more awareness? The body and the mind are connected, and at their best work together as a team.

In order to be our most faithful selves, we need to wrap our minds around things in new ways, ways that push and challenge us to better examine ourselves, our communities, our nation and even our world. We have to do more than just show up; we have to think about it, too. It is easy to fall into the trap of just going through the motions without really engaging our minds. This is especially true when it comes to our worship. We like to be lulled and comforted. And sometimes that’s what we need – a sanctuary from all the chaos and conflict that is happening in our world, a haven from the shouting pundits and not-so-funny memes and arguments in the comment threads.  But I don’t think that’s what Paul had in mind for the early church, certainly not in Romans. If anything, the Roman church had a very persuasive argument for the need for shelter and separation from the world. They were under attack, persecuted by the Empire, forced into hiding because of very real risks. But even then, perhaps especially when the world was at odds, Paul called them to reflect on the ways of the world so that they would not conform to the evils that surrounded them, but could be transformed by the renewing of their minds – something that happened in the context to true, authentic worship within the body of Christ.

A seminary friend posted a genuine question earlier this week, asking “how important is it to you for current events to be addressed specifically in worship?” The responses varied, but all seemed to point to the fact that our time together of worship should include wrestling with the issues of the world, not as partisan or policy debates, but rather in relationship to our understanding of what it means to be part of the kingdom of God. We must hear the words of Scripture not just as ancient texts, but as the Word of God here and now to us in our context, too. We have to trust that the church, particularly in our worship, can be a place where transformation can happen; in fact, we need to come expecting it. Otherwise, we will only experience a temporary escape without any real toolset for what we encounter outside of these walls, and are likely to fall into patterns of old ways and old thinking, conforming to the world as we blend in. Paul insists that God is calling us forward, into a new transformed way of being in which:

We must be ready to challenge those parts where the present age shouts, or perhaps whispers seductively, that it would be easier and better to do things that way, while the age to come, already begun in Jesus, insists that belonging to the new creation means that we must live this way instead[i].

We have to be a people who embody, body and mind, what it means to live with Jesus Christ as our Lord, not anyone or anything else. Worship can be a place where we find a balance point of human initiative and divine intervention as we grapple with the concerns of our day and seek to understand what the will of God is in the midst of it. When we are transformed, we are able to be a true witness to the work of Jesus Christ.

The beginning point of that witness starts with us. It starts with our honest and humble admission that we are prone to conforming to the world’s standards for life and that through our conforming, through our inaction, and through our silence, we have been complicit in the escalation of discord and disharmony within our society. This is a part of the renewing of minds that has to take place within us to live into our identity as the transformed body of Christ. As I have reflected on the role of racism in my own life over these past few weeks, I discovered a scale which was developed in July by psychologist Cristi Demnowicz[ii] as a way to illustrate and identify the racial bias we all experience on some level.

It resonated with me in a humbling way, reminding me that I can’t just talk about the issues of racism in our country as if I have not been a part of them. No, I have never donned a hood or openly discriminated against a person of color, but that doesn’t mean I have not been racist. As I scanned the chart, I identified with moments of awareness, in which I have noted that my experience as a white, heterosexual cis-woman has been largely privileged and different from what many who are not in these majority categories find. But as I looked at some of the other phrase descriptions, I had a lump in my throat as I realized how I have been guilty of saying, or at least thinking, things far more towards the side of racism than I would like to admit. And so, I confess, before you my brothers and sisters in Christ, that I have been and sometimes still am, racist. And I am praying for God to work through that and renew my mind and lead me more into modeling Christ’s love, just as ardently as I am praying for that to happen in the hearts and minds of those who are at every point on this spectrum. And I am extremely grateful to be able to do this hard work in the context of a faith community. Transformations, big and small, don’t happen alone.

The second part of today’s reading reminds us that God’s work isn’t just a solitary event of internal change. It is an act of community. As such, we are reminded to not get too big of a head, but instead consider what our transformed selves might offer. We have been transformed for a reason; to be a part of the body of Christ in the world. During the Civil Rights movement, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had this to say about our work:

Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men [sic] willing to be coworkers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right[iii].

Paul invites us to participate in that through the genuine giving of ourselves as a living sacrifice before God, opening ourselves in body and mind to the work God might do in us, with us, and through us. Our passage begins with Paul begging his listeners to action, using the words “I appeal to you.” The word in Greek, parakalo, is closely related to the word John’s gospel uses to describe the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete. This is not just some command. The language exudes invitation. Paul is encouraging his readers, and us, to respond to our faith by offering ourselves to be transformed by God and engaged in the work of God’s kingdom. Romans 12 is a call to action for the church in the present age. It starts by showing up. It continues by trying to wrap our minds around the issues of our world and the holiness of God’s will for us in it. It leads us into being the body of Christ. And it places us in the position to renew our commitments as followers of Jesus Christ.

Our church history is rich with such moments. In the 1980s, the Dutch Reformed Mission Church in South Africa put together a formal statement of faith, something we call a confession, that began with a letter which said, in part:

We are deeply conscious that moments of such seriousness can arise in the life of the Church that it may feel the need to confess its faith anew in light of a specific situation.  We are aware that such an act of confession is not lightly undertaken, but ONLY (to be undertaken) if it is considered that the heart of the gospel is so threatened by it to be at stake.  In our judgment, the present situation in our country…..calls for such a decision.  Accordingly, we make this confession not as a contribution to a theological debate, nor as a new summary of our beliefs, but as a cry from the heart, as something we are obliged to do for the sake of the gospel in view of the times in which we stand…….Therefore, we speak pleadingly rather than accusingly.  We plead for reconciliation, and call for a process of soul searching together, a joint wrestling with the issues, and a readiness to repent in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ[iv].”

These words introduced Belhar Confession, written in response to the horrors of Apartheid that also presents ringing truths for us today. When sin threatens to corrupt the fabric of our society; when evil creates division among God’s children, constructs systems, and condones hostile actions and attitudes which demean and degrade the worth of any person or group and incites violence and destruction, the Christian community must respond by reclaiming what it is that we believe and who we are as followers of Jesus Christ. It can only happen if we are presenting ourselves to be transformed by God and working to find our place in God’s community.

I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, to take part in this joyous thing God is offering. Hear Paul’s words in verses 1 and 2 as an encouragement and a charge to you in these moments, made fresh to our modern ears by Eugene Peterson’s adaptation in The Message:

So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you[v].

May we be transformed in this way. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

August 27, 2017

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[i] N.T. Wright

[ii] http://racismscale.weebly.com/

[iii] Martin Luther King, Jr., Why We Can’t Wait (New York: Signet Classics, 2000), as quoted by Kirk Byron Jones in his essay “Homiletical Perspective: Romans 12:1-8,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).

[iv] The Belhar Confession, https://www.presbyterianmission.org/resource/belhar-confession/

[v] Eugene Peterson,“Romans 12:1-2,” The Message

Sunday’s Sermon – Tough Conversations – Matthew 15:10-28

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“We need to talk.” These four words are a call to attention and have the potential to immediately strike fear in the ears of the listener. Rarely do they mean something positive. “We need to talk” is not often followed by “I love your new haircut” or “I want to give you good news.” Instead, “We need to talk” is followed by the delivering of difficult news: it is the classic introduction to a break-up conversation, a revelation that you have been caught red-handed for some transgression, an indicator that you have done something that is out of bounds, or bad news is going to be delivered. It indicates that something big is happening and a tough conversation is coming.

“We need to talk” should be the header of the second half of today’s text in our Bibles. A woman presents with an urgent plea, shouting for Jesus to help her daughter, and what follows is perhaps one of the toughest conversations recorded in our gospels. And it almost doesn’t happen. The response from Jesus and the disciples initially is silence, ignoring her cries. And when Jesus does respond? It isn’t pretty. In fact, it almost doesn’t sound like Jesus at all. “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” It is at best a brush-off, a sending away of this woman who does not merit his time or attention. Such a statement is counter to our most basic understanding of Jesus. Where is the Jesus who says “let the little children come to me” and who seemed to pause at every bend in the road to speak to people, much to the disciples’ dismay. Where is the Jesus who stops when a woman who is bleeding touches the hem of his coat, taking time to respond to her needs and offer healing? The one who doesn’t send the crowds away, but instead tells the disciples to give them something to eat? I would like that Jesus, please. Because what we have seems far from it. Then, he makes it worse, not just insinuating, but flat out calling the woman a “little doggie,” a diminutive, derogative term, not worthy of what is given to the privileged children (to be read as the people of Israel) at the table. This is not the Jesus we put on Sunday School classroom walls. In fact, it’s a presentation of Jesus that will get under our skin and make us frustrated and exasperated. It seems callous, mean, and coldhearted. These are not usually words we put with our Lord and Savior.

Perhaps we can find out what is going on by turning our attention to the woman, who isn’t given name, but is described by her ethnic identity. In the version of this story that we find in Mark’s gospel, she is labeled as a gentile, specifically a Syrophoenician (see Mark 7:24-30), identifying her as an outsider. But Matthew’s gospel takes it one step further, identifying her differently, with the label of Canaanite. Such a marker is significant, and would have been especially so to those in the 1st century. You see, it is a biblical reference. There were no Canaanites living in the first century, so:

The label evokes historical conflicts and thus defines the woman in terms of age-old prejudices a first-century Jewish audience would understand[i].

Such tension was inherent to the cultural context of the day, and it reveals a very sobering mirror to those listening, including us. We like to think of Jesus as above all of this, but here we see him at his most fully human. And in this picture of Jesus, we might see ourselves and our own prejudices revealed. We certainly feel the tension that comes in difficult conversations with those with whom we would prefer not to associate.

The writer of the gospel of Matthew places this encounter in a strategic place in the gospel that sets the stage for the woman to enter. After all, Jesus has just finished telling the scribes and Pharisees that it isn’t a strict adherence to purity laws or dietary regulations that makes one part of the covenant; it is the interplay between what is in the heart and the words that come from it. The Canaanite woman’s plea becomes an illustration of this instruction, without losing the inherent tension. It isn’t meant to be an easy application. It is supposed to catch the readers off guard and ruffle their feathers. As pastor Michael Lindvall notes:

Matthew doubtless framed the story he had borrowed from Mark in a way that would help his readers grapple with the tension between those members of his community who understood the gospel of Jesus to be the way for Jews to be faithful Jews and those members who believed that the gospel was intended by God for the whole world. That Jesus effectively articulates both perspectives in this passage served to name the tension and to recognize the truth inherent in both viewpoints[ii].

The struggle in this story, then, is necessary for it to be powerful, because it sets the stage for a new narrative to happen that changes understandings, for both Jesus and the disciples, and the listeners to the good news.

The woman persists. When things are difficult, when disparaging remarks are made, when attempts are there to silence her voice, when the harsh realities of the world are spoken in plain language, the woman does not shy away from the tough conversations that need to happen next. She addresses her need once again, engaging in a sharp and provocative response to Jesus that pushes against all that stands between her and the grace and mercy she seeks. She kneels at his feet and speaks again. Even the dogs get the crumbs. These words, spoken truth to power, along with her faith, enact real and meaningful change. Now we see the Jesus we have come to expect: “Great is your faith!” and healing for her daughter seal the moment.

Lewis Galloway offers that this story “wakes us up from our biblical slumbers” and puts us outside of our comfort zones. He argues that we need to see the Canaanite woman not as an annoyance, but as what he calls a “divine disruption” meant to teach us something. He maintains that:

Disciples of Jesus learn and grow when they brush up against people whose lives, needs, dreams, and struggles are different from their own. The effect of such a relationship is like the effect of sandpaper on a piece of rough wood. It smoothes out the undisciplined edges of life and makes his followers serviceable for some new purpose[iii].

For the first century believers, this story reveals a very rough spot in their understanding of what it mean to live as disciples of Jesus Christ, particularly in contemplating who could or could not be a part of the salvation offered by the Messiah. And Matthew gives them a tough conversation to help illustrate his point and open them to new possibilities. The totality of these verses would have been sandpaper to those who heard it, and it should be the same for us today.

Brothers and sisters, we need to talk. There are countless things happening and going on in the world that prompt us to have conversation with one another. But more often than not, we are silent or dismissive of those things that disrupt our lives and beckon our attention. The issues that have been raised in the wake of what happened in Charlottesville last weekend are not new. They are simply the most recent instance or example. Almost two and a half years ago I was serving a church in Baltimore and watched the news stunned with scenes that were only a few miles from our house. These tensions weren’t new either. Baltimore is a city with a long history of racial tension and struggle that still has implications on a daily basis for its residents. Many tough conversations had already been happening, but these events sparked an opportunity for more people to become a part of sustained conversation about what had brought the area to this breaking point, and what could be done about it going forward. If the news cycles are going to constantly be disrupted by tragedies from the same sin of racism and the same challenges it presents in our country, we need to be less dismissive of them and instead listen for what God might be trying to tell us. Maybe we can embark on these tough conversations before it becomes another headline.

I learned this week about a man who has, for over thirty years, made tough conversations his mission. Daryl Davis[iv] is an accomplished rock musician, with a resume that includes playing piano with the legendary Chuck Barry. But beyond the stage, he engages in tough conversations. Namely, as an African-American man, he has made it an objective in his life to have conversations with and befriend members of the Klu Klux Klan. He has been featured on many newscasts and last year was the focus of a documentary about this work titled “Accidental Courtesy: Daryl Davis, Race, and America[v],” which you can find on Netflix, among other places:

His story is fascinating, as he reveals that his guiding question is and has always been simple: “How can you hate me when you don’t know me?” He models a very different way of engaging issues of racism around the country, which has led to several dozen KKK members leaving the clan, and leaving him with their hoods and robes. He seeks to enact change by establishing dialogue, saying “when two enemies are talking, they’re not fighting.” His work is provocative, and not without controversy or criticism. It has certainly given me a lot to think about, along with many “sandpaper moments.”  But, there is one thing about which there is no question; Daryl Davis is willing to have some tough conversations.

Friends, it does not take much for us to be put in positions where we might have some tough conversations. Look around you in this space. We are, by my accounts, what you would call a “purple church.” The political and ideological positions of those who sit in our pews cover virtually the entire spectrum. And that makes it hard, particularly when tensions escalate around us and even within us. Frankly, it’s easier when those around you share your viewpoints. But writer Diana Butler Bass notes that there is great potential for congregations like us. She notes that:

Purple is more than a blend of red and blue, a right-left political hybrid with no color of its own. Purple is an ancient Christian symbol. . . . Christian purple – the color of repentance and humility – represents the kingdom birthed in the martyred church, unified around a crucified savior, and formed by the spiritual authority of being baptized in a community of forgiveness. . . . For Christians, purple is more than a blending of political extremes, a mushy middle. Purple is about power that comes through loving service, laying down one’s life for others, and following Jesus’ path[vi].

Purple, it seems, might have something to do with the vision set forth by the Psalmist in Psalm 133, “How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!” It is a psalm that expresses the deep longing and hope for reunification of the Northern and Southern kingdoms. It’s something that hasn’t yet happened, but is yearned for with all of the psalmist’s being. And I believe it is something we yearn for as well. The only way we can possibly get there is to actually talk to each other about it. Even if that is tough.

Tough conversations take many forms. In the case of Daryl Davis, it comes in the way of establishing friendships and simply listening. That’s a great place to begin. In fact, you don’t even necessarily have to talk about those “hot button” issues with each other at first. Just get to know each other’s story. Then, as the friendship develops, you can delve into those deeper waters. In the case of the Canaanite woman, tough conversations come by stripping away pretense and naming difficult realities that push boundaries and place the woman at risk. It’s the proverbial “speaking truth to power,” and is a type of honest engagement that has the ability to bring about lasting change. Both are different methods, but both faithful ways of embodying a faith that allows us to be fully present with each other. Our work right now is not in the easy. It’s in the difficult, heartbreaking, soul-searching, seemingly impossible work of having tough conversations with each other.

Today’s text reminds us that we are called to engage in the tensions and difficult conversations of our time. As people of faith, I would encourage us to try to make these tough conversations ones that are theological. The issues we wrestle with in the world, particularly those of equality and justice, need the theology and love of Jesus Christ infused into them. That’s the model of the Canaanite woman and Jesus. The woman evokes theological terms like “Lord” and “Son of David.” The tough conversation she brings wasn’t just a hot-button issue; it was a crisis of theology. Her begging wasn’t just to have her daughter healed; her begging was a persistent insistence on being included in the love and grace and mercy offered by Jesus Christ. That must be the root of all of our approaches as well.

The work of faith is hard. Tough conversations are all around us. May we not be silent.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

August 20, 2017

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[i] Marilyn Salmon, “Commentary on Matthew 15:[10-20] 21-28,” The Working Preacher, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=125, accessed 8/17/17

[ii] Michael L. Lindvall, “Theological Perspective: Matthew 15:21-28,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Volume 2, Chapters 14-28, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[iii] Lewis F. Galloway, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 15:21-28,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Volume 2, Chapters 14-28, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[iv] http://www.daryldavis.com/#

[v] http://accidentalcourtesy.com/

[vi] Diana Butler Bass, “Not Red, Not Blue…Purple Churches http://www.beliefnet.com/columnists/godspolitics/2006/11/diana-butler-bass-not-red-not.html#t3xkWVFOMuoMdpGe.99, accessed 8/17/17.

Sunday’s Sermon – Get Out of the Boat – Matthew 14:22-33

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Seven years ago I took an amazing trip to Guatemala. In addition to some time spent volunteering at Cedepca, my friend Dania and I took a vacation north to the highland region of the country.

 

Part of this trip included a visit to Tikal, incredible ruins nestled in the rainforest which was the capital of a conquest state that became one of the most powerful kingdoms of the ancient Maya with architecture that dates back as far as the 4th century BCE. Similar to the pyramids in Egypt in scale, Tikal is larger than life and almost unbelievable. We soon found ourselves at one of the largest temple ruins, Temple 5, where visitors were invited to climb to the top.

Dania quickly dismissed the idea, but I jumped at what I imagined might be a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She agreed to wait and held my bag as I made my way to the base. Because the steps were very narrow and worn, the only way up and down was a wooden staircase that was more like a ladder, affixed to the crumbling ruins.

I began to climb. The structure began to shake. I looked up, following many tourists who were ahead of me. My grip tightened. The ladder creaked. About halfway up, the movement on the stairs slowed and my stomach got pretty heavy. Then I made a critical mistake – I looked down. I have a relatively healthy fear of heights, and in just a few moments convinced myself that this was the most foolishly dangerous thing I could have ever possibly done, and surely I was moments away from slipping and falling without anything to stop me but the people and stones below. I became almost paralyzed with fear. But I was also in the middle of a ladder with nowhere to go but up.

So I held on for dear life, praying I could figure something out. Then, I noticed something ahead of me at the top of the stairs. An older gentleman was being encouraged by his family to complete his climb. With their help, he reached the top, and then, pressed tightly against the wall of the ruins, began to encourage me. He helped me take the last few steps, and then find a spot next to him where I wouldn’t fall off the ledge and could take in the view. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In moments, he had become my best friend. He shared how important it was to him to follow his grandchildren up and take in this sight. He was 70 years old, but this was his first visit to Tikal. We marveled at the view, and at the people down below. We discussed how we could avoid having to go back down those wooden stairs. The storm inside me calmed. And eventually, with his encouragement again, I was able to return safely to the ground. We celebrated together.

   

 

Moments that take us outside of our comfort zone have the potential to be exhilarating moments that are exclamation points on the adventures of our lives. Our gospel reading today is not exception, featuring an overeager, passionate disciple who makes a pretty dramatic leap.

Peter is perhaps the most enthusiastic disciple. When Jesus asks for something to happen, it is Peter who has his hand up first to volunteer. He may not get it right all of the time, ok, a lot of the time, but his effort is inspiring. He is what we might describe as being “on fire” for the Lord, and he wants to be a part of everything that Jesus is doing right away. You know how dogs get all excited when their owner comes home, racing towards them with tails wagging? That’s Peter when he sees Jesus coming on the water.

To be sure, Peter’s decision to jump overboard was pretty foolish, particularly in the midst of a storm. It’s the very definition of “throwing caution to the wind.”  As Pastor Andrew Foster Connors notes:

You do not step out of a boat in the middle of a storm. You batten down the hatches, put on your life jacket, hunker down in the belly of the boat, and pray that the waves do not get any bigger and the winds to not get any stronger. . . . The safest way to avoid getting hurt seems to be to stay in the boat: 92 percent of the disciples do exactly that in this story[i].

Most of us would stay in the boat, too.  And in this way, the boat becomes a metaphor for how we try to keep ourselves safe, comfortable, and sheltered, particularly when things are rough. Our boats are numerous, and they are literal and physical as well as spiritual. Writer and Pastor John Ortberg identifies them to us in this way, saying:

Your boat is whatever represents safety and security to you apart from God himself. Your boat is whatever you are tempted to put your trust in, especially when life gets a little stormy. Your boat is whatever keeps you so comfortable that you don’t want to give it up even if it’s keeping you from joining Jesus on the waves. Your boat is whatever pulls you away from the high adventure of extreme discipleship[ii].

Most of us would stay in the boat, but not Peter. Peter embraces the call to discipleship and hears Jesus’ invitation to come. He anticipates that something exciting is going to happen. And, like a child standing on the side of a pool wanting to jump in, he yells out to Jesus “are you ready?” asking permission to take the leap.  Jesus responds with a simple command, “Come,” urging Peter to join him. And that simple invitation is all it takes to get Peter walking on water.

What would it take for you to walk on water with the Lord? That is one of the questions John Ortberg asks in his popular book. In it, he offers that God often calls us to get out of the boat in a variety of ways, and he identifies four indicators that can help us identify God’s call and motivate us, too, to get out of the boat.

First, he identifies the indicator of fear. Those things that cause us the most anxiety and nervousness, he argues, might be the places God is most calling us to grow. Second, he suggests an indicator of frustration in our lives that comes with the gap between the fallen reality and our sense of God’s desires. These are the moments where we might be prompted to action as we try to reconcile the world as it is with the world as we believe God intends. Third, there is the indicator of compassion, those things that tug at our heart strings and compel us to respond with demonstrations of love and care for one another, both strangers and friends. Finally, he speaks of the indicator of prayer, recognizing that we may not always see the path clearly, but that through prayer we might uncover deeper understanding. He suggests a minimum of a six month daily commitment to prayer as a way to invite reflection and discernment. All of these indicators work both individually and together to help us get a sense that there is some presence, the one we know to be Jesus himself, who desires that we get out of the boats we have constructed for ourselves and instead try to walk on water.

Yesterday, in Charlottesville, Virginia, thousands of people were motivated to get out of their boats of comfort and speak out in the face of hate and injustice. Among them were hundreds of clergy and other Christians who joined together to bring message of hope and light to the darkness on display by those who were gathering in outrageous displays of the sin of racism and white supremacy. As I watched the news unfold, I was numb. I heard stories and saw countless pictures and videos, some of which were from seminary classmates and colleagues who were sharing them firsthand, and my heart became heavy. It was a day full of sobering moments. I firmly believe they were doing the work of witness, the kind of get out of the boat discipleship work that Jesus calls us to do. And at the same time, I found myself glad to be so many miles away, distanced from the reality of it being a decision I would make myself. I would like to think that if this had happened here in Acworth, or Marietta, or Atlanta, that I would have gotten out of the boat and been there, too. But just the thought of it engulfs me with a sense of fear that might have kept me silenced and on the sidelines. But then I read Peter’s story again, and hear Jesus calling us out of the boat, even in the midst of a storm. Brothers and sisters in Christ, the storm of racism in our country is real, and it is not just isolated to Charlottesville, Virginia.  We must be attentive to the calls placed on us to get out of our boats and dispel hate with that love of Jesus that does not discriminate or favor. Overcoming fear, naming frustrations with broken systems, speaking with compassion, and praying can motivate us into active work in Jesus’ name. We must look outside the boat and see where Jesus is calling us to go. There is work for each of us to do.

Stories like this put us on the edge, and prompt us to action. Getting out of the boat means taking a risk, trusting in something bigger than we can see, in a radical act of discipleship. But doing so can be terrifying, as illustrated on the silver screen almost twenty years ago by Harrison Ford in the classic Indiana Jones trilogy. Consider this, the final of 3 tests as Indy seeks the Holy Grail as he tries to save his father’s life:

Getting out of the boat is a leap of faith. Fortunately, we aren’t just stepping off into thin air, nor are we being completely thrown in the deep end without help. Jesus is there, calling to us and encouraging us to step out. And if we get scared and start to sink, Jesus is there to hold us up so that the waters will not overwhelm us. After all, he is the one who has come to us saying, “don’t be afraid,” for the great I AM, the one who spoke over the waters of creation, through the burning bush, in the words of the prophets, has also come to us in the flesh, and over and over again demonstrates the power over the chaos that threatens to consume us. Jesus doesn’t just appear when the waters have been calmed; Jesus has the power to walk with us over the stormy waters, and gives us the abilities to do things beyond anything we could ever imagine. And all of this is possible with just a little bit of faith. The little faith that is the size of a mustard seed and can still move mountains (see Matthew 17:20). The little faith that gets Peter, and us, out of the boat. Looking to Jesus, may we be willing to take a step overboard. Amen.

~Rev Elizabeth Lovell Milford

August 13, 2017

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[i] Andrew Foster Connors, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 14:22-36,” Feasting on the Gospels, Matthew, Volume 2, Chapters 14-28, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013).

[ii] John Ortberg, If You Want to Walk on Water You’ve Got to Get Out of the Boat, (Zondervan, 2001).

Sunday’s Sermon – What’s In Your Lunchbox? Matthew 14:13-21

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It is that time of year again. Both Cherokee and Cobb counties are back in school. All this week I saw wonderful pictures of first days, from sweet little kindergarteners starting their journey to bittersweet posts about a senior in high school’s last first day. And among these pictures was one from a friend who said she had almost missed packing her children’s lunches this summer; complete with the picture you see on the bulletin cover this morning. So I asked for a few more examples, and some proud parents shared these, complete with encouraging notes. (I should also note that several indicated they should just send me a shot of some lunch money in hand). Somewhat surprising to me, not much has changed, with school lunches since I was packing them just a few years ago. There are some standards that have stood the test of time. As I shared with the children a few moments ago, Little Debbie snacks were always a highlight for me, along with Capri Suns and other special treats. For class field trips I often got to have a Lunchable, a prized selection to be sure. Now, I was fortunate to grow up in a home where lunch was always available, but the best ones were the ones my dad packed. I’m not sure if he realized he was packing for a child, or just wanted me to have lots of options, but whenever he packed my lunch, it was full, almost double what I really needed. I always had a snack for the way home, and usually a few things that could be saved for the next day on top of that.

Perhaps that’s the kind of lunch that was unpacked on the hillside that day long ago when the crowds followed Jesus. That’s the end image, after all; baskets overflowing with leftovers, twelve baskets of them, after more than 5,000 people were fed (the 5,000 just accounted for the men, so you might imagine how quickly that number climbs when you add in women and children who surely would have been present, too). But that image doesn’t match the presenting problem at the beginning of our story, as the disciples come to Jesus and remind him that they are in the middle of nowhere and the people are getting hungry. There isn’t a McDonald’s on every corner, or even food trucks popping up for the large gathering. And, from the context here, it appears that no one had really thought about provisions for themselves when they began to listen to the great teacher. And hunger doesn’t seem to dissuade the crowd. This is significant, as one commentator suggests:

Perhaps there is some hunger of the soul that causes people to continue to pursue Jesus even after their stomachs start growling[i].

Such a situation reminds us that there truly is something compelling about what Jesus is offering to the crowds. It also sets the stage for a miracle to happen.

This is among only a handful of stories that is captured by all four gospels, and aside from the Resurrection, is the only miracle, which tells us it must have been of some importance to the early church. Some even suggest that this story was told as a regular part of the church’s gathering to celebrate communion together. Many of us are most familiar with the version in John’s gospel, which features a little boy bringing his little lunch forward to share. But here in Matthew’s account, we find some different distinguishing features that highlight a different aspect of the story, namely, what it means to be a disciple.

The disciples go to Jesus to fix the problem, and his response is not immediately to just make food appear (which clearly God has the power to do, as evidenced by countless stories in Scripture, with God giving manna in the wilderness as a prime example). Instead, he simply instructs the disciples to give the crowd something to eat. Apparently one answer to “What Would Jesus Do?” is tell the disciples to do it. Jesus doesn’t just function like some sort of holy vending machine. Instead, he gives the disciples agency and calls upon them to use their skills and abilities to be a part of the solution. They have come up with the five loaves and two fish, and it doesn’t take a mathematician to see that those numbers aren’t going to add up. The need was too great, and the resources were too few. I’m sure the disciples thought it was a hopeless cause. What they had wasn’t enough.

Even as Jesus’ disciple, it’s easy to feel like what we bring to the table isn’t enough. Sometimes it’s the result of humility, but often we express very real feelings of inadequacy, particularly when it comes to doing things that involve our faith. We are afraid of saying yes to teaching Sunday School, even to children, because we “don’t know enough about the Bible,” despite reading it and coming to church for years. We shy away from singing in the choir because we don’t think our voice is as good as everyone else’s. We hesitate to volunteer to help with the mobile food pantry because we don’t think we’re strong enough to do anything. And, of course, it’s true with things outside of the church. We don’t speak up often enough when we witness injustice because we don’t think we’re eloquent enough to say anything worthwhile. We stay sitting or pressed against the wall at a wedding reception because we are convinced that we have two left feet and our dance moves would embarrass us. We avoid pictures because we don’t think we look good enough in the moments we want to remember; or we apply filter after filter to cover up our distorted sense of reality. We stay silent in the midst of a friend’s grief or crisis because we think there’s nothing we can do to help. You get the idea. Like the disciples, we look down at what we have and determine that it’s not enough.

Unless. Unless Jesus, the Messiah, God incarnate, could take what we have, even if it’s a meager amount, and do something more with it. What if this story is about more than just a little lunch? What if it’s about all of those things, those inadequacies and small portions, and how God can transform them into something amazing? Jesus’ first miracle in the story was to encourage the disciples to get away from their small thinking and instead consider that what they had could be more than enough. With a blessing from Christ, even what was small could be multiplied. Jesus was inviting the disciples to be a part of the miracle. Likewise, God is entrusting us to be a part of the miracles God is doing each and every day.

Answering this call means looking at what we have in our own proverbial lunchboxes, and considering what it is that we might be able to share with the world. Yes, on one level I think this is absolutely about food. The biblical narrative and gospel witness are full of calls to feed the hungry, and we know all to well that there are countless lunchboxes in our world, even in our own community, that are left far too empty. Later in the service you’ll hear more about some of the ways we as a congregation are working within our community to change that circumstance for many children. So the giving of our tangible and physical resources does matter. When we have leftovers in our lunchboxes, we are called to share them.  If you can, add in just a few items to your grocery cart each week to donate to our food pantry; anything helps, and some of our most needed items each month are listed on the back of the bulletin. If you’re picking up school supplies, or just walking by the display the next time you’re at Target, maybe get a few extra things for a local school, too. In doing this, you are taking the blessings you have been given by God, and allowing God to multiply them and bless others. And that’s a pretty big part of being a disciple.

But the sharing doesn’t just have to be about the things we can hold in our hands. God has given us countless gifts that aren’t tactile, but need to be shared. Consider the gifts and abilities that you have. Maybe you’re really organized and good with numbers, or you love to paint or draw. Perhaps you’re particularly handy and love working with your hands, or you have the ability to quickly get to know people and develop relationships. Maybe you find it easy to talk about your faith and pray with others, or you have a knack for writing and communicating in creative ways. Whatever it is, find ways to share them, in this community and beyond. Don’t just leave the work to others that might be “more” qualified than you. Trust them to Jesus in a spirit of prayer, and see if just maybe he might be calling YOU to use them to be a part of what God is doing in the world, reaching out to others in compassion and love. Don’t leave those gifts in your lunchbox.

Do you know what happens if you leave something in the lunchbox too long? Especially in this Georgia end of summer heat? It spoils. It smells. It becomes unrecognizable and likely inedible. It ends up wasted in the trash. The same is true of the gifts we have if we just tuck them away in a box, never to see the light of day. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have baskets of leftovers than a lunchbox of spoiled remains.

Friends, God has packed our lunchboxes full. We have more gifts and skills and abilities than we realize. Even if all we can look down and see is two fish and five little loaves of bread. God sees something bigger, and God can do big things even with the smallest gifts. As disciples, we continue to go to Jesus with the problems of our lives and our world, and Jesus responds time and time again not just by waving some magic wand and fixing things, but by engaging us and working through us to make incredible things possible; things like an entire hillside full of people fed. Our job is to open our lunchboxes and share what’s inside: with God, with each other, and with the world. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford
August 6, 2017

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[i] Dock Hollingsworth, “Homiletical Perspective: Matthew 14:13-21,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011).
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Benediction: from Saint Teresa of Avila:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

Sunday’s Sermon – Changing Directions – Numbers 22:22-35; Acts 9:1-20

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In order to get from point A to point B, chances are you are going to need some directions. In some cases, particularly small towns, they come verbally with landmarks. In a country song, an attractive stranger who is lost gets the following instructions from a local:

I told her way up yonder past the caution light
There’s a little country store with an old Coke sign
You gotta stop in and ask Miss Bell for some of her sweet tea
Then a left will take you to the interstate
But a right will bring you right back here to me[i].

Sometimes these directions even refer to what things used to be, marking a moment in time. Then, of course, there are paper maps, which are less common now, but still helpful along the way.  I remember buying a detailed booklet of maps for the city of Philadelphia after beginning to serve at my first church following seminary. It wasn’t long after that I purchased a TomTom GPS, which was a lifesaver as a I navigated the area. Now, of course, there are countless ways to know how to get from here to there in your smart phone, from GoogleMaps to Waze. And although the delivery format has changed, the reality of needing some instruction has not.

The thing they don’t tell you about following directions is that it still requires you to employ some sense of reason and pay attention to what is happening around you. Otherwise, you might end up doing something like this:

[Clip from “Dunder Mifflin Infinity,” episode of The Office, aired October 4, 2007[ii]]

Directions. Some of us follow them better than others. And sometimes we get so focused and fixated on a particular path that we cannot adjust when we need to. This is the reality for both of our texts this morning, which lay out pretty dramatic stories of being turned around and then put back on the right track in ways that would rattle most of us to the very core. Paul, referenced here as Saul, was a known persecutor of early believers, notorious for his zeal and strong arm. When we meet him in the book of Acts, he is actively hunting out Christians, outing them in order to arrest them and bring them to Jerusalem for trial; an ordeal that would almost certainly lead to a similar fate of the one they worshiped – death. He has a one track mind on his way to Damascus when he is met by a blinding light that reveals he is heading in the wrong direction entirely. The sign is so stunning that Saul is blinded and cannot recover until he puts himself in the hands of one who would have been his sworn enemy – Ananias. A complete reversal is what it takes to open his eyes, in all senses of the word.

The prophet Balaam is lesser known, but one of the hidden gem stories in the Hebrew Scriptures. Tucked into the book of Numbers, Balaam is what you might describe as a “prophet for hire.” While he only spoke the words God instructed him, the context of our story indicates that there were often multiple agendas at play. King Balak of Moab wanted to weaken the people of Israel, who had infringed on his territory as they made their way to Canaan, so he contacts Balaam to curse Israel in exchange for a reward. Balaam agrees, provided that he could get God to go along with such a scheme. You see where this is going awry? There’s some back and forth, and Balaam then sets out on a path that doesn’t seem to be what God intends, so much so that the path is blocked by an angel. Of course, Balaam is so fixated on his own mission that he doesn’t see it; he only notices that his donkey has stalled on the road, which sparks pure rage on his part. It takes a talking donkey for Balaam to realize something else is going on and that maybe he should alter his course.

Blinding light and talking donkeys. It makes you wonder if God only acts in larger than life ways to give us directions. With such examples like this, we can quickly become disheartened or even dismayed at God’s seemingly lacking intervention into our own lost places in life. The stories of such gigantic proportions in our world happen, but they are fewer and father between. More often, these moments are more subtle and come at a slower pace. But these bigger than life stories, much like that of Jonah a few weeks ago, can give us the opportunity to examine our own lives and, on a small scale, consider the ways that perhaps we have been unable or unwilling to see where God is calling us. The good news is, God doesn’t stop trying to give us directions to help us see.

In the case of Paul, we might note that the drama on the road to Damascus seems to match the tone of the rest of the story. Paul was extreme in every sense of the word. One commentator notes that:

The very nature of his conversion is a reflection of his state of mind and heart in the period leading up to his changed life, and it perhaps demonstrates as remarkably as any other biblical text that God employs means of reaching an individual that are commensurate with that individual’s needs. . . . [The text demonstrates that] God would deal with each of us according to who we are[iii].

Some of us need bigger signs in order to understand.

In the case of Paul and Balaam, God is dealing us a common trait that might be what prompts such radical intervention: stubbornness. Both men are so fixated and focused on the direction they are going that they can’t see anything else around them. They are bulldozing their way through life, not paying attention to any of the signs that might shift or alter their direction. We humans tend to be that way. In the past 40 or more years, psychologists have been studying the ways we interact and what causes us to hold particularly strong sets of beliefs[iv]. Earlier this year, researchers Hugo Mercier and Dan Sperber published a book titled, The Enigma of Reason, in which they explore why we think the way we do. The book argues that reason:

is not geared to solitary use, to arriving at better beliefs and decisions on our own. What reason does, rather, is help us justify our beliefs and actions to others, convince them through argumentation, and evaluate the justifications and arguments that others address to us. In other words, reason helps humans better exploit their uniquely rich social environment[v].

Put even simpler, we only see what we want to see, and sometimes that makes us short sighted. You know the expression, can’t see the forest for the trees? Such a limited viewpoint can lead us barreling in one direction, even if that means we’re heading toward disaster. And the more we get pushed, the more likely we are to stick to our guns and dig into our beliefs; nothing can move us. Except maybe a blinding light or talking donkey.

While we might not be quite as stubborn as the leads of these dramatic biblical stories, we can get pretty bull-headed sometimes and refuse to acknowledge or think about anything that deviates from what we have set out to do. When this happens to us in our faith lives, we run the risk of fundamentalism, pushing ourselves into fixed views of God and the world that leave no space for the Holy Spirit to move and shift. Our faith becomes static, not dynamic, and we get stuck.

The journey of faith is not as simple as just following a clear list of directions tucked neatly into your Bible. We can’t barrel our way through it, or put ourselves on auto-pilot. That’s how we end up in the lake. Rather, faith should be an interactive journey that we undergo with God by our side. This is the intersection of divine providence and our own free will. Our lives at their best are the fulcrum on which this sits, as we listen and try to figure out what God would have us do, God’s will, and hold that against our own desires and inclinations. It’s meant to be a conversation. Have you ever talked to your GPS, or argued with your navigator, or even the map itself? I am guilty of doing this. And sometimes, ok, a lot of the time, I decide that I know better than the navigational system and go my own way. When I had a TomTom, the response was the same every time, “recalculating . . . recalculating.” If I missed a turn, “recalculating”; when I took matters into my own hands, “recalculating.” The system adjusted to my own decisions, good or bad, and helped reroute me from that point. That’s the way God works, I think. God gives us the ability to make our own decisions, but desperately hopes to be sitting next to use and helping us with the navigation. And God is always recalculating and trying to show us the way to go. Sometimes, as in the case of Balaam and Paul, that navigation is to take a u-turn at the next available opportunity.

There can be good things that come from such a shift in course. Take Paul, for example, who God called to become one of the most influential leaders in the early church, whose writings still inspire and connect us to God today. As Paul Walaskay notes:

Rather than a negative “turn your back on the past,” Paul received a positive “turn your face toward the future.”

We, like Paul, are not called to turn our back on the past. Rather, we are to look fully at all aspects of our personal histories, to repent of (or change our minds about) the things we do that run counter to the inevitability of God’s grace, and to turn our faces toward God’s future[vi].

That’s the kind of direction God wants in the end; for us to be heading in the direction of God’s future. In this way, our lives become marked by the one with whom we are next to on the journey – God.  Our journey together through these scriptures for the summer has come to a close, but our journeys of faith are far from over. As we continue to navigate the way, may we let God be by our side, and may we be open to the fact that, along the way, we may just be called to change directions. In doing so, we might just be more faithful, and turn our faces more toward the future God intends. Don’t be afraid of some recalculating. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

July 23, 2017

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[i] Billy Currington, “Good Directions,” Written by Luke Bryan, Rachel Thibodeau • Copyright © BMG Rights Management US, LLC, Dan Hodges Music, LLC

[ii] https://vimeo.com/15390422, Clip from “Dunder Mifflin Infinity,” episode of The Office, aired October 4, 2007

[iii] Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary based on the NRSV – Year C, Charles B. Cousar, Beverly R. Gaventa, J. Clinton McCain, James D. Newsome, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994).

[iv] For an interesting summary of this topic, check out “Why Facts Don’t Change Our Minds,” by Elizabeth Kolbert, published in The New Yorker on February 27, 2017. Available online at http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/02/27/why-facts-dont-change-our-minds, accessed 7/22/2017.

[v] Harvard University Press description of The Enigma of Reason by Hugo Mercier and Dan Sperber, (Cambridge, MA: HUP, 2017), http://www.hup.harvard.edu/catalog.php?isbn=9780674368309, accessed 7/22/17.

[vi] Paul W. Walaskay, Acts: Westminster Bible Companion, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998)

Sunday’s Sermon – Houseguests – John 14:1-14

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Where do you like to stay when you go on vacation? Do you seek out a luxury, 5 star, all-inclusive resort? Are you a “pack in, pack out” kind of camper? Or prefer the communal living in a hostel? Maybe you rely on the guest rooms and pull out couches of family members or friends. While some would argue that there are other things that matter more than where you stay, your lodging choice can make a big difference in how the trip goes, and we tend to have our own preferences. And so we read the reviews, hoping for reasonably priced places that will fit our list of wants. It can be a tedious process, whether you are researching the best place to park your family RV or finding the perfect beach front hotel with ocean views. In the end, we want to know what to expect, and hope to find the perfect fit for our needs to make a truly memorable trip.

In our gospel reading for this morning, Jesus is in the midst of what is known as his “Farewell Discourse” to his disciples, where he does far more than just telling them about a great trip he has planned with Mom and Dad to a cozy spot on the Sea of Galilee. The stakes of his journey are tremendous, and his explaining them to the disciples has caused understandable grief. In this passage, we hear Jesus offering words of comfort, reminders that his trip will not separate him from his disciples forever. Instead, quite the opposite will be true – they will be reunited with him. Naturally, the disciples want to know what it is going to be like, and how to get there. Thomas is the one who is bold enough to ask the question.

In response, we would expect Jesus to paint a clear picture. After all, throughout his ministry, particularly in the gospel of Matthew, he has described what the “kingdom of heaven” is like: a mustard seed, a great treasure, a generous landowner in the vineyard, a pearl. And yet, he doesn’t seem to spend much time on a list of amenities. It is as if he has already told the disciples what they need to know – it is his Father’s house, there is space for everyone, and he is preparing the way. Throughout the centuries, Christians have tried to paint a bigger, better picture of what this must mean; images of big pearly gates and a grand estate with golden roads. The Christian rock band Audio Adrenaline had a hit song in 1993, describing it as a “big, big house, with lots and lots of room, a big, big table, with lots and lots of food, a big, big yard, where we can play football!(i)” It’s natural for us to want to get a glimpse of what the Father’s house will look like, or at least to imagine some of the splendor that is to come. And, like we sometimes do with our vacation plans, we can get caught up in the lists of amenities and luxuries. We want to book our room, and secretly hope we’ll be upgraded to a penthouse suite. Our view of eternity is almost like we’re guests in God’s hotel.

When you’re a hotel guest, you view things as a customer. Things become a business transaction in which you give something to the hotel in exchange for services. If the services don’t meet your standards, you can call the front desk and complain to the manager in the hopes of some resolution. You are a consumer, free from the responsibilities you normally have at home. I remember arguing with my mother as a teenager while on vacation about whether or not it mattered if we made the bed, since someone would come and do it for us. To this day, my mom will more often than not make the bed, or at least smooth the covers back in place. Some people take this convenience to the extreme in the other direction and leave quite the mess; rock stars are stereotypically notorious for this. While I am sure that none of you would ever trash a hotel room, if we’re really honest, I imagine we don’t put too much thought into how it looks when we leave for the day, or even the trip. That’s normal for a hotel guest.

Jesus’ response to the disciples question makes it pretty clear that what he’s talking about is a bit more than a vacation reservation. He responds to Thomas not as a travel agent trying to sell the upgraded room, but as the Savior who knows what is truly at the heart of the matter. “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life,” Jesus says. In other words, “I’ve got you covered, Thomas. Trust me, friend, it’s going to be good.” Jesus knows that the reservation will be made by his death and resurrection, that grace will cover all the costs. He knows he’s doing much more than playing travel agent. What Jesus is offering isn’t a short term vacation opportunity, or even a fantastic deal on some eternal real estate. He’s not really selling anything at all. Rather, he is inviting his friends to come and live with him. They aren’t going to be paying customers; they are going to be houseguests.

Being someone’s houseguest is very different from renting a room. Our expectations aren’t the same when staying with friends and family. We generally don’t experience a daily turndown service, mints on our pillows, or tiny bottles of shampoo and lotion. Instead, we tend to focus more on the time we get to spend with our loved ones. Things feel a bit more like home as we fall into a shared rhythm and routine together over morning cups of coffee, rocking on the front porch, local adventures and shared reminiscing. Of course, our hosts will do things to make us as comfortable as possible. They’ve probably done some cleaning up to prepare for our arrival, and show us where we can find things around the house. They say “make yourself at home,” and show us where to find extra towels and late night snacks. They may even give us their wifi password. But chances are, during our stay we aren’t that focused on the amenities or luxuries of the accommodations. They are replaced by something far more important – relationships.

This is what Jesus is really talking about in this passage: relationships. Not just in the far off future of eternity, but in the very immediate reality of the present. He reminds the disciples that through him, they are already connected to God the father. They have begun an intimate relationship with the divine host. Through Christ, they have laughed with God, dined with God, walked with God. They have witnessed God’s incredible powers to heal and reach out into the world. They have truly experienced God, not as some future being to meet, but as someone who is a part of their lives even now.

Jesus’ farewell discourse is meant to encourage them to live more deeply into that relationship with God in the present. He summarizes what that means in this passage by identifying the role of good works, not as a way to get to God (that’s already been done through Christ), but as a response to God dwelling within each of them, and as a way to glorify God in this time and this place. Theologians call this “sanctification,” the ongoing process of living holy lives that remind us of God’s presence with us and seek to praise God in all that we say and in all that we do. Jesus reminds the disciples that these works give hints of the even greater works he will do in God’s name, and will be the glimpses of what is to come. The key to this kind of living? A focus on the relationships they have with God and one another.

Hearing this passage today, we are challenged to consider what our relationship with God is most like. Do we approach it as a hotel guest with a list of desired amenities and consumer mentality, or do we approach it like we are going to visit a dear friend or family member. Chances are the answer is truthfully a little bit of both. We trend toward the consumer approach sometimes. We remember to pray more when there is something we particularly want or need. We come to church looking for what we can “get” out of our time here, ready to be served and hoping not to be disappointed by a less than stellar sermon. We think about God when it is convenient for us, which might be less often than we’d like to admit, rather than make our spiritual lives a priority. And if we’re really honest with ourselves, we’re pretty quick to complain to the management when things aren’t the way we like them. This mentality isn’t all bad. Jesus even indicates that he will provide for us in verse 14 of our scripture passage. We trust in God’s power and grace to be able to do anything, even more than what we ask. And there is certainly nothing wrong with asking God to help us or others, or to expect that our time together as a community of faith will benefit us. It absolutely should. But that’s not where our relationship with God should end.

I think we have an innate desire as human beings to connect in meaningful ways, and it’s even seen in our travel trends. All over the world, people are opening their homes to guests through programs like “AirBNB.” In one commercial, the company is presented like this. A mother juggles a tote bag full of groceries and baby bottles, trying to get them to fit into a hotel room mini-fridge, as her husband notes that every time she moves one of the original overpriced snacks, “you know they’re going to charge us for that.” Then, the scene cuts to the same family entering a home, with a room for the kids to play, and large spacious fridge big enough for an assortment of items only Mary Poppins could produce from that same bag. The mom smiles and takes a deep breath.

This travel movement accomplishes a lot of things and meets a new set of needs for travelers, but also represents in us, I think, the desire to be more connected with each other and for our travels to feel more rooted in our own realities as we try to find places that “feel like home.” It shifts the focus of our trip to the relationships we have, and even opens the doors to some new relationships, depending on whether or not the owners of the house are around. Many who have enjoyed these types of accommodations have noted the joy of shared cups of coffee as cultures are exchanged. It can be fun to engage with the host.

In God’s house, we find the best kind of host. We are welcomed with warm and open arms as beloved children who have come home. We settle into the Father’s house and are reminded of past memories. We reminisce with God about good times and bad, laughing and crying together until the wee hours of the morning. We learn more about the place we are staying, and get insider tips that make our experience more authentic, rather than falling into tourist traps with cheap thrills. We are more inclined to lend a hand preparing dinner, and might just tidy the covers a bit and hang up our towels in the morning. When we approach our faith journey more like houseguests than customers, something shifts inside of us. We realize that our time with God involves giving of ourselves, to God and to each other so that we can all grow together as a family of faith. We sing out in worship, not worrying if our voices are a bit off key. We speak up in Bible study, not worrying if our ideas about Scripture are perfectly phrased or even completely correct. We volunteer in service, not worrying about being the most qualified, just wanting to help as best as we are able. As houseguests, we have the boldness to do these things because we trust we are in a safe place with our host, who will be with us every step of the way. As God’s houseguests, we can linger in this place without worrying about a check-out time. For with God, we are home.

The invitation to us has already been made some two thousand years ago, and will extend into eternity. But we don’t have to wait to accept it. We can live as God’s houseguests now, dwelling with Christ in us today. The Father’s house can be wherever we are; the light is always on for us to come and stay. As the Psalmist reminds us, this is a good and joyful place to be! You won’t find better amenities anywhere else than God’s grace and love. So come and stay a while, there’s a place prepared for you. Let us go to the house of the Lord! Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, July 16, 2017

[i] “Big House” by Audio Adrenaline, from their 1993 album “Don’t Censor Me”

 

Sunday’s Sermon – Anywhere But There – Jonah

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One summer my family and I were vacationing in Panama City Beach, Florida. After a full day of fun in the sun, we came back inside, showered and got dressed for an evening out on the town. I was a teenager at the time, which would have made my youngest brother, Ben, around 6 or 7. He was tired and cranky, and resisted every step from the beach to the car. We parked the car near out favorite hole-in-the-wall seafood restaurant, nestled in a strip mall. What followed became an iconic family moment for us. Ben stepped one foot out of the car, saw the lines of stores, stomped his foot and emphatically yelled, “WE’RE NOT GOING TO THE MALL!”, refusing to take one step further. The book of Jonah is a story of a similar temper tantrum.

Jonah is a unique book in many ways. First, it’s the only prophetic book that is not focused on the words OF a prophet, but rather is a story ABOUT a prophet. And while some other prophetic books, like Jeremiah, do give a glimpse of the prophet’s experience, this is one of our best insights into the inner workings of someone who is on a journey to follow where God calls him to lead. Jonah appears one other time in Scripture, speaking to the not so great king Jeroboam II in 2 Kings 14:23-25, promising him God’s favor. This almost passing reference hints that Jonah might not be the prime example of God’s messengers, though. If we read more, we learn that the prophet Amos appeared before Jeroboam II with almost the exact opposite message, saying God’s justice would be against the horrible king (see Amos 6:13-14)(i) . So something is a bit amiss about this prophet. And when you read these four chapters in the book of Jonah, you get a sense of why. One commentary categorizes the story of Jonah as the “subversive story of a rebellious prophet(ii).”

This summer, our reflections together have all revolved around different aspects of travel, but today’s text prompts us to think about those times when we don’t want to go anywhere. There is a clichéd list of places, of course, from the DMV to your in-laws to the dentist; places we dread going, try to avoid, or even throw a tantrum about being there, whether it’s external in a parking lot, or just inside of our heads. But there’s also a resistance, I think, that we sometimes have to those places, literal or metaphorical, where God is calling or leading us in our lives. The book of Jonah becomes a mirror to us that reflects some truths about the difficulties of following God. It’s hard work. Sure, it sounds good to say we are following God, as long as God’s will lines up with ours. But when God asks us do something that takes us out of our comfort zone or preferences, we don’t always want to do it.
Sometimes, we are also rebellious prophets, or at least wayward disciples, too. We run in the other direction entirely. “Sure, God, we’ll follow you . . . anywhere but there, that is.”

When we meet Jonah, he’s been given a simple instruction – go to Nineveh. Nineveh was the capital city of the Assyrian empire, and was known for being a place of sin and evil, the bitter enemy of the people of Israel. We don’t know why Jonah doesn’t want to go, but we can imagine any number of perfectly legitimate reasons: he was afraid for his own safety; he didn’t like the Ninehvites; or maybe he just saw them as a lost cause, not worth the breath of the words he was to say to them. So he gets up to the booking agent in Joppa and instead of going east, it’s as if he picks up a map and goes as far away as he can get in the other direction and puts his fingers on – Tarshish. I recall doing something similar as a high school senior, threatening to my parents that I was going to apply to go to college at the University of Alaska. When things get bad in the children’s book, the main character Alexander declares, “I think I’ll move to Australia(iii).” The truth is that some of us are so stubborn, or frustrated, or scared, that when the option comes to face difficulties head-on, we’d rather turn in the other direction instead. Jonah gets so comfortable in this decision and new path that he is even able to fall asleep in the cabin of the boat.

But God won’t leave us sleeping, continuing to ignore God’s call and pretend like it doesn’t exist. When God calls, God is persistent. For Jonah, God sends a wake-up call in the form of a storm, which rattles the pagan sailors to the point where even they believe in the divine. Then, when that isn’t quite enough and Jonah is tossed overboard, God sends a giant fish to swallow Jonah up and give him the most epic “time-out” of history. During this time, Jonah is able to reflect on what has happened and gain some insights that open him up to what God is actually trying to do in his life.

In the cartoon VeggieTales movie adaptation of this story made, this is where a gospel choir comes in, full chorus, singing that “our God is a God of second chances!(iv)” And while this is a viable and good message to take away from Jonah’s time in the belly of the fish, it’s a bit too small thinking. The reversal in chapter 2 comes in a time of prayer, but in that prayer Jonah doesn’t actually seem to confess, but profess the nature of God; namely a God who hears prayers and does not leave us in the pit. Jonah’s prayer points us to bigger realities at work in this larger-than-life story, particularly relating to God’s mercy. It reminds us that there is no place, not even the far ends of the earth, not even the completely opposite direction from where we are supposed to be traveling, that God cannot and will not go to embrace us with love and mercy.

Now, this is the part of the story that most of us know, and where many stories end. We mark this as the tale of “Jonah and the Whale,” and tie it up neatly with a bow. But it’s so much more than that, particularly if we read the entirety of the book – and we’re already halfway there. But before we move ahead, there’s one more thing we need to note about this unique prophetic book tucked into our Bibles; it’s not really a story that most students of scripture get caught up in arguments about whether or not it happen. Most believe that it’s not a factual, historical account, but rather was written for another purpose. The key to unlocking it, ironically enough, lies in the belly of the whale, our best modern understanding of the Hebrew description, dag gadol, which really means “great fish.” Jonah is a fish tale, indeed, written in an over-the-top, larger-than-life way where hyperbole and stock characters take center stage. Everything is big and exaggerated in order to clearly illustrate the point of the story, which takes almost a parable-like feel. For these reasons of language, the book on the whole is often classified as satire, meant to put unbelievable characters in extreme circumstances to convey big truths through humor and irony.

The first two chapters of Jonah aren’t just a story unto themselves; they are a set-up to what follows. God puts Jonah back on the beach, and repeats the instructions, “go to Nineveh.” And this time he does, but we might imagine him doing so with a “hurmph” or a “fine,” because he delivers his message in a pretty succinct and non-descriptive way. Five words in Hebrew. Clearly whatever was his struggle with going to Nineveh is still at work. He’s abandoned all of the typical prophetic structures. There is no mention of “the Word of the Lord” or a listing of the Ninehvites’ sins or what will happen in great detail. He doesn’t even mention God! Again, Jonah reaches unruly prophet status.

But even in spite of Jonah’s lackluster performance, the people of Nineveh repent. The ruthless king repents. Even the cows repent (remember how this is meant to be over the top and a little ridiculous?). And God spares the city from the calamity intended. This is a prophetic victory; you would think that Jonah would be thrilled, or doing victory laps around those who had changed their ways. But instead, Jonah pouts. He complains to God, making the argument that if this was going to happen, his trip had no purpose. He sarcastically says that he knew this was the character of God all along. It’s meant as an insult, offered as an excuse for why Jonah ran away in the first place. He cannot imagine a God whose mercy would be so big and wide that it could even include the people of Nineveh. This same Jonah who had received such wonderful mercy in the belly of the great fish, can now not seem to accept that mercy shown to others, much less extend it himself. The story shifts from Jonah’s protesting “I’ll go anywhere but there” to “Show mercy to anyone but them.” The rest of chapter 4, which I’ll leave as your homework assignment this week, gives another example as God tries to help Jonah see the ridiculousness of his anger – you might view his request to God to kill him as a melodramatic teenager who screams that her parents have ruined her life. The end of the book leaves Jonah sitting outside of the city, still pouting, still a cranky prophet who just can’t seem to get where God wants him to go.

The ending to the book is so open-ended that it points directly back to us, the readers. It begs us to consider what the Ninevehs are in our own lives. Where are those places that God is nudging us to go, but we are stubbornly resisting? Who are the people that we can’t imagine God loving, so we sit and pout instead? Can we handle a God whose love and grace and mercy is so deep and so wide? It’s a great thing to think about when we’re in prayerful contemplation in the belly of a fish, but when we really put it into practice it often contradicts many of our righteous sensibilities. The story of Jonah is one about how radically God pushes the limits of grace and mercy. Will we run in the other direction? Or maybe, we can learn from Jonah’s journey, and get out of those ships heading in the other direction, or bellies of great fish, or hillsides next to the city, and embrace the kind of radical love God is offering to each of us, and to the world. As Jonah reminds us, we have a God who is “gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing” (Jonah 4:2). Let’s not run from that.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford, July 9, 2017

[i] For an excellent overview of the entire story of Jonah, including some of these critical textual notes, check out this video produced by The Bible Project: https://thebibleproject.com/explore/jonah/. Accessed 7/8/17.
[ii] “Jonah,” The Bible Project: https://thebibleproject.com/explore/jonah/. Accessed 7/8/17.
[iii] Judith Viorst, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. (Antheneum Books, 1987).
[iv]Jonah: A VeggieTales Movie, LionsGate, 2003.

Sunday’s Sermon – Front Seat Battles – Mark 9:33-37, 10:35-37, 41-15; James 3:3-18

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I have two wonderful younger brothers, whom I love very much. These pictures are fairly reflective of our love for each other and the fun we have together. On the whole, we got along pretty well as a trio growing up. The glaring exception to this, though, is whenever we would get in a car to go somewhere. And I don’t mean because we complained on the trip; that was last week’s sermon. I mean literally going to get in the car. It started innocently enough. Mom or Dad would say it was time to go, one of us would call “Front Seat” (some of you know this as “calling shotgun”). That evolved into a rule between us that you had to actually be in view of the car before you could call it. But words didn’t last long. Claiming the front seat became a literal battle for who could physically get into the seat first. It wasn’t very pretty, and didn’t take long for our youngest brother, Ben, to become collateral damage as he tried to keep up with his older siblings. The last straw for my mother was the day Ben’s arm got caught in the car door as either Philip or I slammed it shut trying to cement our claim on the seat.

Today’s gospel texts are a little less violent, but show a similar wrestling among the disciples for who gets the front seat. In subtle, and then direct ways, we see the disciples angling for status, wondering who among them is the best or greatest. They had been following Jesus for a little while, and wanted to know where they stood, or sat.

Looking back, as an adult I can recognize that perhaps sitting in the front seat wasn’t the be all end all important thing in life, but for a girl with two younger brothers, I think it became so important because it reinforced my deeply held belief that as the oldest child I deserved certain privileges. It was a status symbol, giving not only the best view and most comfortable ride, but control of the air conditioner and radio selections. Who wouldn’t want that? For the disciples, sitting in that metaphorical front seat in the kingdom of heaven was certain to guarantee even greater, eternal privileges. This was more than just a quest to be the teacher’s pet; this quandry was how James, John, and the other disciples sought their very salvation, and they all wanted to be on top of that list.

But when Jesus asks the disciples what they’re talking about, the group falls silent. Often the disciples are portrayed as clueless, but in this case we hear the silence of those who know better than to admit to the subject matter. Harry Adams notes:

Many of us would fall silent if we were asked to explain how what we are doing and saying accords with the way of life that Jesus sets before us[i].

Surely the disciples had realized by now that Jesus was not in the business of perks and elite status even for his most devoted disciples. They surely knew he wasn’t going to defend the cultural norms or status quo. We know better, too. Countless other examples in Scripture call us to humility, and remind us that it doesn’t matter whether you’re first or last, all are welcome. Every seat in the car gets to the same destination.

But that doesn’t stop us from trying to get in the front seat. Wanting the best seat is an inclination we all have, not just as children, but as adults, too. We spend a lot of our time, sometimes subconsciously, worrying about our status, trying to get ahead or maneuver things so that we get the acclaim. We do this every time we navigate traffic, merging in and out of lanes based on which seems to be moving faster, or waiting until the last second to get over at our exit so we can skip ahead just a few more cars and save just a few more minutes. We do this if we’re flying Southwest, scrambling for the exit rows or aisle seats, even if we’re on the shorter side. It happens in more significant ways, too. Our careers can be driven by a desire to succeed and get ahead, whether it’s meeting a sales quota, getting a promotion, securing tenure, being the boss’s right hand man or woman, or becoming the boss ourselves. In the movie Talladega Nights, Ricky Bobby’s father comes to career day and shares the life lesson, “if you ain’t first, you’re last!” These words motivate the main character to pursue success no matter the casualties left behind, even if that means getting a little dirty in the process. Achievement and advancement are a big part of our experience of life. But we aren’t always that willing to admit it when they domination our intentions.

Jesus’ response to the disciples, in both instances, was not to admonish their general drive to be successful. Instead, his response invites them to refocus their energies in a different direction – from rivalry over status with each other to service for the world. Rather than leading lives which revolved around individual success and status, to lead lives that attended to the overall success of everyone, to be the servants “of all.”  The word that is translated in this text as “servant” in Greek is diakonos, and

While that word came to refer to a person in ministry, in the Greek of Jesus’ and Mark’s day it meant someone who served meals. The person who was “servant of all” was the lowest in rank of all the servants – the one who would be allowed to eat only what was left after everyone else had eaten their fill[ii].

In a similar way, Jesus uses the illustration of welcoming a little child, a word in Greek which is closely related to servant. Children in the first century, even more so than today, were completely without any power or status or voice. All of Jesus’ response was characterized by telling the disciples to worry less about who was in the front seat and more about who was squished in the back or left by the side of the road.

There is a famous quote that goes something like this: “the true measure of any society can be found in how it treats its most vulnerable members[iii].”  It has been dubiously attributed to a great number of historical figures, but I wonder if the roots of it aren’t from Jesus himself. By instructing his disciples to be servants to others and welcome children as ways they follow him, Jesus is establishing that being a Christian involves paying attention to those that many others ignore, or worse, harm on their way to the top.

Frankly, many of us sitting in this sanctuary today are often in the front seats of power and privilege in life, and with that comes a considerable responsibility. It’s our responsibility to attend to the needs of the other passengers. Yes, we get control over things like the air conditioner and radio, but perhaps with this we should also make sure that the rest of the people in the car are also having a comfortable ride. If someone in the back gets sick, it means giving them our place up front to minimize their pain. Being in the front seat, at its best, is being a servant to others, and looking out for everyone else, too. Sometimes the best way to do this is to change our perspective, which means giving up our seat so that others can have a turn.

My mom’s first solution to our front seat battles was to institute the simple concept of alternating who got to sit in the front seat. In this system, I quickly realized that some trips were longer than others and would “generously” gift my brothers with additional turns, so that they had two in a row, in order to manipulate it in such a way that it became my turn for those trips that were longer. It helps to be a little older and wiser than your siblings. But

I imagine that Jesus would take some issue with my creative approach to servanthood. Because you see, I really wasn’t trying to help my brothers out. I was in it for me, which isn’t much better than pulling and clawing my way into the seat.

The writer of James had a lot to say about the underlying motivations for our actions, too.

Throughout the book we hear careful instructions about the importance of integrating our theory and our practices. James is where the rubber meets the road for much of Jesus’ instructions. Just before our passage for today comes the frank statement that “faith without works is dead[iv].” In James, we find the argument not that faith saves us, but that if we claim to be people of faith, our actions need to match those words. This means that there is no room for us to act with selfish ambition or greed. And those actions that are manipulative of the truth with the sole motivation being our own personal gain? They might just be earthly, unspiritual, and wicked. And they will certainly lead to disorder. James doesn’t mince words here. He puts the instructions Jesus gives to the disciples under a magnifying glass and heats things up. He calls us to the wisdom given to us by Christ himself, and urges us to be “peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy[v].”

This way of living doesn’t leave much room for front seat battles or tricky behavior. Neither did my mom’s final system. She caught on to my scheme and responded with a system of “days” then “weeks” that rotated who got to sit in the front, suspended and renegotiated for special occasions like birthdays and family road trips. In doing so, some peace was made, most of the time at least, and my brothers and I began to work on similar patterns of sharing privileges with each other that required a little less orchestration from our parents, from what shows to watch on tv or games to play, or where to go out to eat. And I’m happy to report that on the whole, we are fairly well adjusted adults who no longer fight over the front seat if we are all going somewhere.

Maybe that’s what Jesus was going for with his disciples – a system of living that got away from time and energy spent on who got to sit in the front, and focused on the actual journey at hand. Can you imagine what it would be like if we as Christians stopped fighting over the front seat, and instead found ways to share our privilege and status? I think it might be the first step to our living peaceably, and it would certainly be a great way for us to follow Jesus’ teachings. It means subjecting ourselves to risks, to not being in complete control or power. When Jesus did it, sitting with sinners and tax collectors and caring for the vulnerable in his day, it led to his arrest and crucifixion. If we follow suit, the results may be the same for our social status or reputation. But it is this path of service, of caring, that leads to greatness in God’s eyes. So, where do you want to sit now?

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] Harry B. Adams, “Pastoral Perspective: Mark 9:30-37,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 4, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).
[ii] Sharon H. Ringe, “Exegetical Perspective: Mark 9:30-37,” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 4, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).
[iii] Although many sources attribute this to Mahatma Gandhi, there is no clear documentation of this exact quote to him, and many suggest it is a mis-representation of a similar quote from Gandhi made in a speech in 2008 regarding cruelty to animals, where he is noted as saying, “the greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” Others who have been quoted as similar to this include Winston Churchill, Harry S. Truman, and Pope John Paul II. While the exact origins are unclear, the ethos and general sensibility seems to be a shared vision among many respected world leaders over time.
[iv] James 2:26, New Revised Standard Version: “For just as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is also dead.”
[v] James 3:17, NRSV.

Sunday’s Sermon – Through the Waters – Exodus 14:5-8, 19-31; Luke 8:22-25

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Now that summer is in full swing, we’ve entered the season in which every afternoon bears the potential for a thunderstorm. This week has been a perfect illustration of that. Some nights brought rumbling that shook the walls of our house. One night, the sky was filled with clouds and everything seemed to have an eerie yellow hue. Even driving in this morning, the sky alternated between grey looming clouds and sunny blue strips of sky. Summer storms can seem to come out of nowhere and stop just as quickly as they start. In fact, you can drive from your home to church and find drastically different weather patterns all in a matter of minutes. At this time of year especially, this storm pattern is common.

The same was true for the fishermen when they set out on the sea of Galilee. This body of water isn’t that big, and is surrounded by mountains and hillsides. A storm could sweep up out of nowhere and take a boat by surprise. And that’s exactly what happens in our gospel text for today, as the disciples and Jesus are transitioning from his teachings to a ministry marked by miracles. Out of nowhere, the wind and waves batter their ship to the point where they are in real danger. And where is Jesus? Sleeping peacefully in the midst of the chaos. Such an image can be a bit jarring to our faith. It’s not that Jesus was missing; the disciples were traveling with the Lord at their side. And yet, even when they were “going with God,” the going has gotten tough. The disciples wake him up with cries of sheer terror – we are perishing!

A common misnomer about the journey of faith is that if you are “right” with God, doing all the things that disciples are supposed to do, then you won’t have any problems or difficulties in your life. This is bad theology, and it’s not biblical, either. In both of our texts for today, God’s people experience real and present danger, all while being clearly on the road with God. So today we consider what it means to encounter storms along the way.

For the people of Israel, they are fleeing the tyrannical, oppressive rule of a Pharaoh who has abused his power and enslaved them in Egypt. Exodus 14 reveals the climax of the story; after plagues and signs, Pharaoh finally relents and grants the request Moses makes on God’s behalf to, “let me people go!” But the promise of release is seemingly short-lived, as Pharaoh changes his mind and pursues the refugees fleeing their captivity. The Israelites reach a literal dead end at the water’s edge. In the verses skipped this morning, they indicate how it seems pretty heartless of God to have led them this far, with hopes and expectations of the promised land, only to die at the hands of Pharaoh’s army. Rightly so, their cries become similar to the disciples on the boat: we are perishing!

Our experience falls in line. We live in a stressful, chaotic, and dare I say, stormy, world. We fight and bicker with those we love, and disagree with many that we meet. We struggle to make ends meet. Storms of addiction and depression, grief and illness threaten to overwhelm us. There are literal storms, too, that bring about destruction. On Wednesday morning, there was a significant earthquake in the northwest corner of Guatemala near the border with Mexico. Many are still rebuilding their lives across the Midwest and Gulf Coast in the wake of storms that are long absent from news cycles but very present realities for many. This week marked the one year anniversary of the deadliest shooting in U.S. history at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando in which 49 children of God were killed, and we woke up on Wednesday morning to the news that a gunman had opened fire on leaders and aides at a congressional baseball practice. One right after the other, sudden, dangerous storms break our hearts, and our spirits. “We are perishing” becomes our cry, too.

Has God fallen asleep like Jesus did on the boat? In the other gospels, the disciples accuse Jesus of not caring that they are perishing. This is a question of what scholars call “theodicy” – the exploration of what to make of a good, loving God, who allows bad things to happen and evil to seem to win. It is a question God’s people have been asking since the beginning of time, and continue to ask today. After the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, this question was at the top of everyone’s list. New York Times author Stephen Jay Gould wrote a poignant response just a few weeks after those devastating events, noting:

The patterns of human history mix decency and depravity in equal measure (1).

Given this, he writes, we often assume that this means that our society is balanced in this way, with equal numbers of decent and depraved people. But this isn’t actually true. Her suggests that in moments of crisis we have to reaffirm an essential truth too easily forgotten:

Good and kind people outnumber all others by thousands to one. The tragedy of human history lies in the enormous potential for destruction in rare acts of evil, not in the high frequency of evil people(3).

Gould calls this phenomenon the “Great Asymmetry,” and asserts that

Every spectacular incident of evil will be balanced by 10,000 acts of kindness, too often unnoted and invisible as the “ordinary” efforts of a vast majority(3).

He calls on all of us as a people to record and honor the weight of these kindnesses, so that our view of humanity, of ordinary human behavior, will not be distorted by the storms. We can’t get stuck in the storm. “We are perishing!” cannot be our final cry. We have to look and see Jesus on the boat. Then, we might remember some of the 10,000 acts of kindness and goodness that exist. In doing so, we might find a moment of calm or stillness, not unlike the wind and the waves on the Galiliee that day.

Former PCUSA Moderator and pastor Neal Presa writes “what can the church [or a preacher] possibly proclaim in the midst of tragedy, both while the storm is raging and after it has subsided(4)” that will make any sort of difference? If we are to have any hope, we must return to our biblical texts. When faced with peril, in both of the stories we read today we see evidence of God’s providential care. For the Israelites, God literally parts the waters; where there was once a dead end, God makes a way. For the disciples, Jesus rebukes the wind and waves and they subside; where there once was chaos, Christ brings peace. The message of scripture is this; when things in life get tough, God will bring us through the waters. That is what the church is called to proclaim.

This is the central claim we make in baptism. That we have been claimed by Christ in these sacred waters, and that God will deliver us from the ways of death and sin into new life. No storm can shake God’s love for us, whether it is something we experience at the hands of others or something we create ourselves. When we make these promises to an infant, we acknowledge that her life will be full of ups and downs. As a community of faith, we promise to walk alongside her and remind her of the faith which will make her strong. As she grows, we affirm that she is a beloved child of God, and celebrate the gifts that God has given her, encouraging her to share them with the world. When things get tough, we will be there with her as a reminder of God’s presence. We will tell her she is strong when kids on the playground make fun of her and tell her she can’t do something. We will tell her she is smart and can do it when she comes to youth group exhausted from hours of studying. We will pray with her and for her when she goes out on her own and tries to find her way in this world. And at the same time, we will navigate our own storms and the storms of this world. We will do it together, confident that God is walking with us. This is what it means to say yes to those questions we ask at baptism. That we will walk this path together, through the waters of life.

“Where is your faith?” Jesus asks the disciples after the storm is calmed. Rather than take this as a demeaning criticism of their belief system, perhaps we should view such a question as Jesus reminding them of where their strength will come from – their faith. With God’s help, our answer can be to look around us. This week at VBS, one of the central messages was that being a hero was not just something reserved for a select few – we are ALL God’s heroes, because God gives us all strength. With God, we have heart, courage, wisdom, hope, and power. These are the things we need to get us through the storms, and they have been given to us. Our real challenge is whether or not we will be able to find our strength in the faith God has given to us.

I don’t have a dog, but several friends with furry companions often note how terrified their animals are of thunderstorms. A few of them have discovered a fantastic solution; the thundershirt. It looks kind of like a sweater wrapped around the animal’s torso that provides constant, gentle pressure. In doing so, it relieves the anxiety felt in the face of a storm. The storm still happens, of course, but the dog or cat has an easier time getting through it. That’s what it’s like with faith. Our faith doesn’t make us immune from the storms in life any more than anyone else; but

anchored in faith, we can check the course that we have chosen, our responses along that course, and the decisions we have yet to make along the journey(5).

Our faith wraps around us with the assurance that God is with us, and helps us find the strength we need to move forward. When the storms come, and they will, “going with God” becomes the most important, because we trust that God will get us through those waters. May it be so. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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1) Stephen Jay Gould, “A Time of Gifts,” The New York Times, September 26, 2001. https://mobile.nytimes.com/2001/09/26/opinion/a-time-of-gifts.html, accessed 6/15/2017.
2) Ibid.
3) Ibid.
4) Neal D. Presa, “Theological Perspective: Luke 8:22-25,” Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, Volume I, Chapters 1-11, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014).
5) Ibid.

Sunday’s Sermon – Hit the Road! – Mark 6:6b-12; Genesis 12:1-9

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“Your mission, should you choose to accept it . . .” began the instructions in Mission: Impossible. In an instant, the agent’s course was changed and a thrilling episode began, full of twists and turns, brimming with suspense. This summer, we are like that agent, hearing messages from God through some of the many stories in our Scripture that prompt us to take action and get moving. Just as God interrupted the everyday routine of Abraham, God speaks to us, taking us from our regular routines and giving us a new itinerary. The Holy Spirit is still on the move, and now God tells us – “Hit the Road!” For Abraham, these instructions came with a promise; that God would make Abraham and great nation, and that Abraham would both be blessed and would be a blessing to others. It’s a pretty good deal, and not surprising that Abraham and Sarah would take God up on it and begin to pack their bags.

After accepting the assignment, the agents in Mission: Impossible were always outfitted with the best of gadgets, from an auto-lockpick to appearance changing costumes to advanced cable systems that allowed entry into buildings that resembled fortresses. These tools helped them to evade the most ruthless bad guys, save innocent victims, and, of course, save the day. So, our first priority after accepting God’s invitation to travel might be to outfit ourselves with everything that we need.

In our gospel text for today, Jesus sends the disciples out on a mission to preach the good news to the world, and gives them a packing list. Well, sort of at least. Did you catch it? It comes in verses 8 and 9 – “He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.” Not exactly what we might expect. In fact, it’s a lot more about what NOT to bring, which is actually all that is shared in the accounts in Matthew and Luke’s gospels (1). Given these instructions, the disciples wouldn’t even need a carry-on bag. I don’t think Jesus was just trying to save cargo room in the vehicle they were taking. I imagine, as Jesus tended to do, that this practical instruction also had theological implications, both for the apostles he was sending and for us today.

First, his instructions would have reminded them of their heritage as God’s covenant people. Jesus’ instructions are reminiscent of the Exodus story, when the Israelites were commanded to be ready with sandals on their feet and staff in hand (Exodus 12:11). “By taking nothing else on the journey, the apostles demonstrate their complete dependence upon God and the hospitality of others(2).” They become grounded in the rich story they were joining and the tradition they were called to continue. Rather than spending a lot of time inventorying their belongings and getting things ready, they would be more like Abraham, who heard God’s call to go, and gathered his family together to begin the trip. It’s that easy, right?

Maybe for some of us, it is. I’m not that lucky, though. You see, I love to travel, but I hate packing. Whether it’s for a few days spent with family or a week in the mountains at Montreat for a youth conference, getting ready to go is hard work. I spend way too much time doing it, ending up with all of my clothes on the bed in a mountain, trying to make sure there are enough options for any possible activity, and bargaining with how many pairs of shoes I can get away with putting in my suitcase. Once Nathan was born, this process got even more complicated. Babies seem to need so much stuff to go even the shortest distances: diapers, the pack-n-play, clothes, pacifiers, a few familiar toys, bottles, bibs – all simple things, but they quickly make another mountain to be packed. Now it’s a bit less daunting, but still takes additional time to pack for someone else and negotiate which toys make it into the car. It can take forever to get ready to go, trying to anticipate what we might need so we can be prepared for any situation we might encounter. Sometimes it takes longer to get ready to go than the trip itself, and makes us wonder if it’s worth all the hassle. We can even forget the reason we are going in the first place.

Maybe this is why Jesus’ packing list for the disciples is so simple – sandals and a staff. “These symbols are reminders that the apostle’s mission is an extension of Jesus’ own ministry(3),” and it is Jesus who will give them all the authority and power that they need, a subtle reference to the work of the Holy Spirit. He wanted them to remember their purpose. In other biblical texts(4), wearing sandals also connotes dignity, and carrying a staff (5) signals one’s authority. On a more basic level, what the apostles are told to take are also practical items that represent barest of necessities. Sandals protected one’s feet, and a staff could be used to fend off enemies, snakes, or wild animals. Joseph Bessler notes the importance of a humble wardrobe by comparing it to the wise desert fathers and mothers who imposed wisdom, saying that:

simplicity marks not only the figure of a sage, but a transparency of purpose. The Twelve come with open hands, neither offering wealth in exchange for receiving the good news nor asking for money. In announcing the kingdom of God, one must come with open hands, because the distinctiveness of the gospel must challenge the prevailing ways of appealing to self-interest and nativist impulses(6).

Jesus’ instruction to “pack light” suggests that perhaps it’s not the “stuff” the disciples had that would make the difference in this mission to spread the gospel. In fact, it might even get in the way of what they were trying to do. So better to keep it simple.

Have you ever gone on a trip and gotten so encumbered by all the stuff you were carrying that you missed out on the fun because you were so weighed down or your hands were full? This happens in our own lives as well, doesn’t it, as we pack so much into our schedules or into our heads that we can no longer think straight for all of the busy-ness of our lives. Even in this summer season, when we are supposed to be taking it a little easier, our lives can become overpacked as we try to do it all. I wonder what things would look like if we instead tried to pack a little lighter in our own lives and lose some of the “stuff.” Letting go of it might allow us to be more present with one another and with God. It can also help us to remember the central calling as disciples of Christ – the one that we share with Abraham and the disciples – the call to share the good news.

In order to really “Hit the Road” in our faith, we have to wrap our heads around our call, and recognize that what really matters, more than anything else, is the message we are sharing. Pastor Michael Lindvall says our job is:

simply to tell others about the God who has come to mean so much to us. This is an action performed out of love, not competition or anxiety. . . [We] need not have polished words, sophisticated theology, or fine-tuned dogma to speak of their faith. [We] are simply called to speak truth in love, from the heart, in [our] own words, and never be ashamed(7).

Has your life been impacted, in big or small ways, by Jesus Christ? If the answer is yes, then you are packed sufficiently to be Christ’s apostle, sharing how God has been present in your life with others. Don’t let your “stuff” get in the way of that holy calling. It really is that simple.

But sharing our stories with others can be intimidating, particularly when we have left behind those things that keep us comfortable and buffered from the world around us. Fortunately, though, our missions come in the context of community. Jesus sent his disciples into communities to form relationships in the midst of this light packing, confident that their needs would be taken care of. Additionally, he sent his disciples two-by-two. That’s right, Jesus was the original inventor of the buddy system. In teams, they could provide one another companionship, mutual protection, and moral support, and serve as reliable witnesses as they took on the mission that Jesus set before them. Today, Christ continues to call us to be in community with one another – families, friends, churches, and communities of all sorts seek to provide support and encouragement to one another. As a part of their examination by the session, each of our incoming officers shared a little about their faith journey and what they believed, and in doing so the spirits of all in the room were lifted a bit. I saw people smiling and nodding, connecting with each other’s stories. The more we share the stories of our faith, the easier it will become. You can even start practicing this morning. Find someone, maybe even the person sitting next to you in your pew, and share some of your faith story over a cup of lemonade and cookie after worship. Don’t worry about “getting it all right” or having a polished story that meets some lofty unrealistic set of expectations. Just keep it simple, and trust that God can and will do the rest.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it . . . is to Go with God into this world. It is an incredible mission to be a part of, this ministry Jesus has called us to join, and the challenge to us this morning is how will we begin? Will we try to load everything in, cramming our suitcases of faith so full that we have to sit on them to close, with things bursting out of the seams like the picture on the cover of our bulletin, or will we pack lightly, leaving space for Jesus to be at work through us? Mark 6 gives us a packing list – Genesis 12 gives us the call – are we ready to hit the road?

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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1. See Matthew 10:9-10; Luke 9:3, 10:4
2. Vanthanh Nguyen, “Exegetical Perspective: Mark 6:6b-13,” Feasting on the Gospels: Mark, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, eds. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014).
3. Ibid.
4. See Gen 14:23, Exodus 12:11, Luke 15:22
5. See Gen 38:18, Exodus 4:17, Micah 7:14
6. Joseph A. Bessler, “Theological Perspective: Mark 6:6b-13,” Feasting on the Gospels: Mark, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, eds. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014).
7. Michael Lindvall, “Pastoral Perspective: Mark 6:1-13” Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 3, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009).

Food Pantry

Normal Food distribution is on the 2nd Saturday of the month at 10:00 am and the 4th Wednesday of the month at 12:30 pm.

Our next Drive-Up Food Pantry is Saturday, January 11 at 10 am.  Accurate pre-registration is strongly encouraged to ensure volunteers pack accordingly.

Register online for Saturday, January 11 here.

For other pantry locations, go here
or text “FINDFOOD” to 888-976-2232

Church News

Volunteers will be packing family food boxes on January 6th, and January 20th at 10 am in the fellowship hall. We welcome all volunteers!

Food Pantry distribution volunteer opportunity Saturday, January 11 signup here.

Worship Live Streaming and archives can be found by clicking the appropriate link under the worship tab.

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Upcoming Events

Worship

Sunday Schedule

9:00 AM
Responding in Faith Sunday School Class
     via Zoom with Barbara Jessee

9:15 AM
Bible University Sunday School Class
    with Dr. Tom Scott
Hybrid format (in-person & via Zoom)

Connections Sunday School Class
with Mark Bixler
Hybrid format (in-person & via Zoom)

Youth Bible Study (Room 8) 6- 12th grade

Kids Club – (Room 7)
Biblically-based Faith Formation Activities for Preschool – 5th Grade
Praise Kids Music on the 3rd Sunday of the month.

10:30 AM
In-Person Worship and Livestreamed via   YouTube.

Youth Group – Wednesdays from 6-8 PM (Room 8)