God Gives Enough

Exodus 16:2-15

September 24, 2017

            I have concluded that if the Israelites that we read about in Exodus were around today, they would make a perfect candidate for a Snickers commercial. You know the commercials I’m referring to: think of the one where a bunch of guys are playing football on a muddy field. Betty White is playing with them. She goes for a pass only to be tackled. Her teammates call a time out and they tell her she’s “playing like Betty White out there.” Her girlfriend runs in from the sidelines and offers her a Snickers bar. One bite and suddenly Betty White is back to being a young man. Now that he’s had a Snickers bar, his hunger is assuaged and he can play ball like he normally does. Tag line: have a Snickers because you’re not you when you’re hungry. 

            Clearly the Israelites were not who they were supposed to be because they were hungry. I don’t know if the current slang word “hangry” was coined out of these Snickers commercials, but that would make sense. Hangry is hungry and angry combined, and if ever there were people who were hungry and angry, it was the Israelites.

            Verse one, which we don’t read, gives us the time frame for the rest of the verses that we do read. It was the fifteenth day of the second month since the Israelites were freed from captivity in Egypt. That means that approximately six weeks had passed since Moses, Aaron and Miriam led the people out of captivity, across the Red Sea into the wilderness. Six weeks and the people were complaining. They were hungry. They were thirsty. They were wondering what Moses had really done to them by bringing them out into this wasteland. What was the point of taking them out of Egypt if only to starve them in the desert? They were promised a Promised Land, but as one commentator put it, the only land they were seeing was sand upon sand upon sand. What provisions they brought with them were dwindling fast, and they were hungry and thirsty and tired. So the murmuring and the complaining began in earnest.

            I am not making light of the Israelites complaint. Nor am I making light of their fears. I imagine they were afraid, perhaps very afraid. They had put their trust in this guy Moses to lead them out of Pharaoh’s slavery, and now they were wondering whether that was a mistake. It is funny how fear and hunger and doubt play tricks on your memory. Captivity under Pharaoh was brutal. They were worked mercilessly; for many of them they were worked literally to death. They were starved and beaten. They had no freedom. They had no reason to hope. They had no reason to believe that their future held anything but more of the same.

            But if you were dropped into the reading of this passage without any knowledge of what had come before, you would think from their telling that their lives in Egypt were an ongoing delight. They were not starving in Egypt; indeed they sat by the fleshpots and had their fill of bread. Slavery under Pharaoh sounds like paradise on earth, a return to the Garden!

            But it wasn’t. We know that. The Israelites knew that. But the evil you know is better than the one you don’t, and I imagine the Israelites were terrified of the potential unknown evils they would soon find themselves in. Would they actually starve to death here in this wasteland? Would they be led out of Egypt only to be abandoned? Should they have trusted Moses and Aaron in the first place?

            Trust is at the heart of this passage. The Israelites placed their trust in Moses and Aaron, and they complained to and against them. But Moses told the people that when they complained they were really complaining against the Lord. It was the Lord who brought them out of Egypt, and it would be the Lord who would provide for them. How would the Lord provide? By raining bread from heaven to be gathered in the morning and quails in the evening for meat at their nightly meal.

            Considering what the congregation of the Israelites had already seen and experienced, this strange sounding response should have come as no surprise. But perhaps some of them were hoping for a little more. I don’t mean to sound ungracious, but if I had been among their midst, I might have thought – bread good, quail good, but would some fresh fruit have been a problem?

            Think too about how God provided the manna and the quail. With the exception of the sixth day, when they were allowed to gather enough to provide for two days, they were given just enough. Hoarding or saving could not happen because the manna would spoil. And have you ever eaten quail? It’s a good meat, but there’s not enough on any one bird for more than one meal. It’s pretty small; tasty, but small. Manna and quail; God gave them just enough.

            Why did God not give them more? Why did God not give them an abundance that they could store, save up, hoard? The obvious answer is because God wanted them to trust God each day for what they needed. If they were able to store and save, it’s quite possible they would have begun to count more on themselves and their own abilities than on God. When they were forced every day to rely on God for everything that they needed to survive, they had no other choice but to trust.

            The Israelites’ time in the wilderness was a time to learn trust in God. It would a hard lesson, and one that would need to be relearned over and over again – in their remaining years in the wilderness and beyond. But it was also a time of formation. Remember the Snickers tagline: You’re not you when you’re hungry. The Israelites were not yet who they were, who they were supposed to be, not just because they were hungry, but because they were still being formed, being called, being shaped into who God created them to be.

            I may be wrong, but I think this may be the first instance when the Israelites are called a congregation. They are not referred to only as a people or as a family, but a congregation. They are gathered together, called together by God for God. Their time in the wilderness will form them as a congregation, as God’s people. It will shape them, test them, try them, and teach them. They would be called to trust God completely with their entire selves. It was a time to make them who they were supposed to be.

            When it came to trusting God, the Israelites did not always pass the test. I can’t point a finger in judgment though, because neither do I. Lately I’ve been reading articles on financial wellness, and according to the articles I am very sick indeed. Part of what it means to be financially well is to have cushions of savings to fall back on in difficult times. Well. That’s easy to say, but much harder to do. I know I’m not alone in this. And there is nothing that tests my trust in God more than money. I have said it before that when it comes to that side of life, I lead from a place of scarcity rather than abundance; meaning that I am convinced more that disaster lies ahead rather than I trust in God’s care. I forget very quickly how much I have. I have no sense of gratitude; no feeling of contentment or peace. It’s always fear, fear, fear. When fear drives me, I want to fall back on hoarding and tightly clenched fists. Generosity and stewardship and joy take a back seat when fear is driving the car.

            And if this is true for me, for any individual, how is it true for a congregation? I am not speaking only in terms of money and finances; I am speaking in terms of fear. How is our collective memory distorted when it comes to the “good old days?” The good old days of the church, the good old days of society and culture, etc?

            When I first began studying this passage for today, I was thinking of us being stuck in the wilderness of limbo – where is God calling us to go? What is God calling us to do? Who is God calling us to be? So I initially wanted to address the fear that we may be feeling, something that we have been doing for a while now. But then I thought that maybe we need to be thinking ahead to the time when the Israelites were about to cross over into the Promised Land. At first, the Israelites clung to God. They held tightly to the lessons they learned in the wilderness. Their trust was high. Their confidence was higher. But time passed and things changed. Life settled down. They went from judges who rose up to lead when there was a need, a crisis, to demanding a king; which was a direct sign that they were trusting more in human leadership than in God. The wilderness became a dim memory. It did not turn out well.

            I’m not saying that our upcoming move is to the Promised Land. Nor do I want to dampen the spirit of hope and excitement that I’m feeling, and I hope you are all beginning to feel as well. But no matter where we reside, no matter how large or small our congregation may be, we still need to trust that God is leading us each day. We still need to trust that God is providing for that day’s needs. We need to keep learning lessons in trust, and have faith that God gives enough. God gives enough; enough for today, enough for today, enough for today. Have faith. Have trust. Have hope. God gives enough. Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

Settling Accounts

Matthew 18:21-35

September 17, 2017

            In the opening of the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie: The Curse of the Black Pearl – which is also the best Pirates of the Caribbean movie – Elizabeth Swann, the lead female role stands in a tightly corseted, fashion forward dress. Then and now, fashion forward means that she is uncomfortable and can’t breathe. She is so uncomfortable and so unable to breathe that she faints and falls off the side of this large tower of the fort she’s standing on into the sea below. Captain Jack Sparrow – who is the lead role, the lead pirate and the lead everything in the movie – is being questioned by two soldiers as to his purpose for being at the fort, and he and the soldiers see her fall. He asks the soldiers if they are going to save the young lady. Neither of the royal navy’s finest can swim but the pirate can, so he dives in after her, gets her out of the fashion forward dress which is weighing her down, and her pulls her back to land. Once they are both out of the water and she is breathing and standing again, the two are surrounded. Elizabeth is quickly pulled into the arms of her father, the governor, and Captain Jack Sparrow is held at gunpoint by a dozen soldiers for the crime of being a pirate.

            Elizabeth speaks up for him because he just saved her life. But his rescue of her will not be enough to keep him from the gallows. A pirate is a pirate. They put his hands in manacles, which seem to be an early form of handcuffs. Just when you think this is it, Jack throws the chain of the manacles around Elizabeth’s neck and pulls her toward him. He demands his effects which includes his belt, his compass, his gun, and his hat. He has Elizabeth tie his belt on him, and when she calls him ‘despicable,” he says,

“Sticks and stones, love. I saved your life. You saved mine. We’re square.”

Then he leaves them with the memorable words that this was the day they almost captured Captain Jack Sparrow and he escapes, at least for a little while, in the most epic movie way possible.

Great movie. Great dialogue. And it would seem a great example of accounts settled. That’s how we like things to be in life – perhaps not pirates and dramatic rescues from the sea – but square, accounts settled. I do for you. You do for me. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. That would seem to be true even when it comes to forgiveness. There needs to be a number attached to it, a limit, or a set amount. Perhaps this is what lies at the bottom of Peter’s question to Jesus in our passage from Matthew’s gospel.

“Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

This follows our passage from last week when Jesus laid out a way for dealing with conflict in the church, and he knew there would be conflict.

“If another member of the church sins against you…”

Maybe Peter wanted to take it a step further. Okay, you’ve told us what to do if someone sins against us. We confront that person directly just the two of us. If that doesn’t work, then we bring a couple of other folks in as witnesses. If that still doesn’t work, then we bring it before the church, and if that doesn’t work, then we treat that person like a tax collector or a gentile. But what about forgiving that person? How many times do I have to forgive that member who sins against me?

According to the Law, the number of times forgiveness was to be issued was three. So Peter doubled it and added one. By any account, he was being generous. But Jesus went even further. Translations differ as to what Jesus told him. Our version says, “seventy-seven times.” Other versions say, “seventy times seven.” 70 x 7 = 490. Either way you translate it, that’s a lot of forgiveness.

But I’m not sure Jesus was actually trying to get Peter and the other disciples to think in real numbers. I think this was a case of hyperbolic speech. How many times should you forgive? A large number, maybe even an incalculable number. Forget about the number, just forgive and forgive and forgive.

To further his point about forgiveness, Jesus told a parable about a king and his slaves. The kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his slaves. He went to one slave who owed him ten thousand talents. The slave could not pay, so the king ordered that the slave, his wife, his children and all his possessions should be sold. The slave fell on his knees and begged for mercy.

“Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.”

The king took pity on the slave and released him of the debt. But after having been the recipient of such generous mercy and grace, that same slave went out and encountered another slave who owed the first one a hundred denarii. The first slave seized the second one by the throat and demanded payment. This fellow slave also fell down on his knees and begged for mercy and patience. But the first slave refused it, and had the second slave thrown into prison. The other slaves saw this and were upset by it, so they went and told the king. The king called the first slave in and said,

“You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?”

Then the king was so angry that he handed the slave over to be tortured until he paid off his debt. Jesus ended this parable with the warning,

“So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

Well that’s enough to stop you cold. If this parable is a true allegory, then God is the king, we are the slaves. God demands our debts be paid, but if we beg for mercy, God forgives us. But if we turn around and don’t forgive others, then we are tortured. If we look at this parable through the eyes of strict settling of accounts, then God demands payment. We plead for mercy. God relents. We demand it of others, they plead for mercy. We refuse. We get our just desserts. If one good turn deserves another, then one bad turn deserves another as well. God as the king says, “We’re square.”

Or is Jesus telling them something else all together? I think it goes back to the number he gave Peter. How many times do you forgive someone? Over and over and over again. Forgiveness is not about settling accounts. Forgiveness is a part of you. Forgiveness is recognizing that we have been given incalculable grace, and that we are changed by it. That is something the first slave did not understand.

I realize that this does not address the question of forgiving that which is unforgivable. Too often victims of heinous crimes are told to forgive in lieu of justice being done. Forgiveness is used as justification for abusers to continue their abuse. Last week we remembered the 16^th anniversary of September 11^th. Can those who lost loved ones on that day sixteen years ago be expected to truly forgive the ones who instigated the attacks, who flew the airplanes into buildings? How do we forgive the unforgivable? Yet, I still believe that the call to forgive and forgive again is there – for all of us.

The late Nelson Mandela told the story of leaving prison after years and years. He was imprisoned for his speaking out and his activism against apartheid in South Africa. If I had been imprisoned all those years, I think I might have left bitter and angry. But when Nelson Mandela left prison, he was a changed, transformed man. He left prison a man committed to peace and reconciliation. He was not a perfect man, but he was a changed man. He said that he knew if he could not forgive what had happened to him, what had been done to him, than he would never truly be free.

It seems to me that he did not forgive those who imprisoned him for their sake as much as he did for his sake. To not forgive would have kept him in another kind of prison. Forgiveness is about settling accounts, but not in the way the world understands that; in the way God does. How does God settle accounts? Through grace, through mercy, through love. Again and again and again. May we do the same.

Let all of God’s forgiven children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

Life Together

Matthew 18:15-20

September 10, 2017

            I was told a story about a member of a church I once served. I never met this member. He died long before I came on the scene. But this member was known for letting pastors know exactly what he thought of their sermons, their prayers, their leadership, etc. One Sunday, this gentleman did not like the intercessory prayer the pastor led. It went on too long for the member’s liking. Ask for help, lift up the people in need, get it done, get it over with. Amen. After church, the member drove all over town looking for the pastor to make sure that he told him exactly how much he didn’t like the prayer. I guess the pastor had gone out to eat with his family, so the member finally tracked him down at his home. I don’t know if he knocked on his door or cornered him in his driveway, but he gave him a tongue lashing for the deplorable prayer given that Sunday.

            While the members of the church who shared that story with me thought it was funny, I thought, “I’m really glad I was not the pastor, because that would have reduced me to tears, which probably would have made the guy give me an even harder time.”

            Recently, I also heard a story of a family who left a church here in town supposedly because at a church dinner one member of their family was given a much smaller portion of meat than a member of a rival family. I doubt that this was the real reason for leaving the church. I suspect that there had been a feud brewing for a long, long time between the two families, but that camel must have had a very overloaded back if that was the straw that finally broke it.

            These two stories represent opposite ends of our passage from Matthew. The first is taking your need or desire to confront someone to an unhealthy and, I think, mean extreme. It is one thing to confront someone who has hurt you, or you believe has done something that has harmed or will harm the fellowship of the church. But to hunt the pastor down because you didn’t like the prayer, well call me defensive, but you stand up and do better, then we’ll talk. That felt more like a demonstration of power than an actual confrontation over a conflict. The second is an example of what happens when you don’t deal with conflict; when you let it simmer and fester until it finally blows up over something small and seemingly insignificant. I am always saddened when I hear of churches splintering and splitting over inner turmoil and conflicts, but of the many reasons why a church may break down, may it never be known as the Great Roast Beef Debacle of 2017.

            At first glance this passage from Matthew’s gospel seems to be strictly about the rules and regulations for dealing with conflict in the church. It is often referred to as rules of church discipline, and certainly our own rules of discipline are modeled after Jesus’ words in these verses. Matthew is often seen as the most legalistic of the gospel writers – which is one of the reasons that I tend to struggle with him. It’s not that I don’t want rules and order – I do. But I grow weary of constant legalism.

            But is this actually legalism on Matthew’s part, or is that how it is has been interpreted? It is bracketed on either side by passages that are not legalistic in tone at all. The verses preceding these are about the shepherd leaving ninety-nine sheep to find the one that is lost. And the verses following are Peter’s question to Jesus about how often should we forgive someone? Jesus’ answer was an incalculable amount. Forgive and forgive and forgive and forgive.

            So is this legalism that we are dealing with for the sake of legalism, or is it a way to be in relationship with one another for the sake of community? I think it is the latter. Jesus came to bring people into deeper relationship with God and with one another. The kingdom of God was not a far off wonderland – some divine amusement park filled with perfection and utopian delights. The kingdom of God was the true community, the true fellowship of the people of God. So how do we live in fellowship, in relationship, in community with one another?

            I think it is important to note that what is implied here is that Jesus assumed there would be conflict. Nowhere does the text say, “Thou shalt not have conflict, but if you do, if you fail and mess up and have conflict, then here is what you do…”

            We tend to see our conflict as failure. I tend to see conflict as failure. But I don’t think Jesus was saying that to be in conflict was a failure on their part. How they dealt or did not deal with that conflict might constitute failure, the conflict itself came from the fact that they were a community of flawed, finite, limited human beings. Remember when Jesus told Peter that on him he would build his church, gather his community? Peter was a flawed rock to be sure. So it is a good bet that the community on which it was built will also be flawed. Of course it is because we are flawed.

            Conflict is inevitable. That’s what I feel is implied here. But how you deal with conflict can make a difference. How do we deal with conflict? How do we deal with someone we believe has sinned against us? Do we confront the person? Or do we take it to the parking lot? Or to lunch after church? My finger is not pointed outward with these questions; it is pointed firmly at me.

            The truth is, it is much easier to take conflict to the parking lot or to lunch or to Facebook or Twitter or an email or some other method or means. It is much easier to not deal with it, let it go, try to forget about it. But then someone gets a larger serving of roast beef, and a family leaves the church. Conflict resolution is not easy, but the method Jesus offered was a way of dealing with it, of facing it and resolving it that kept the community intact.

            But what if the steps that he laid out it didn’t work? Then we treat the person like a tax collector or a Gentile. We shun them. That is how this command has been interpreted. Yet, to read against the text, how did Jesus treat tax collectors and gentiles? Did he shun them? Did he make them even more outcast than they already were? Or did he continue to reach out to them? Did he continue to offer them fellowship, love, acceptance?

            Just as taking conflict to the parking lot is easier than dealing with it directly, so is shunning easier than trying to offer an extended hand to someone who has hurt you. It seems to me that the conflict resolution steps Jesus offered were hard from beginning to end. And while we may see them as step 1, step 2, step 3, etc., when you are dealing with human beings, lines get blurred. Relationships are messy. Communities are messy. Perhaps Jesus was offering a warning about what we loose and what we bind. We have power, and we can use that power with love or we can abuse it. As one commentator wrote, be careful what you set in stone on earth because that can have cosmic consequences.

            Being in community, in fellowship with one another is a messy reality. I took my title for my sermon from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s book of the same name. In that book, he discusses what true Christian fellowship is. I have only begun to read the book, and I cannot claim to fully understand every point he made, but he wrote about being disillusioned with one another. True fellowship happens when we reach the point of disillusionment. It seems to me that when we are disillusioned with each other, the blinders are off. We see each other as we really are – flaws, foibles, frailties and also blessed with wonderful gifts and abilities. True community, true fellowship happens when the blinders come off; when we see each other for who we really are – sinners yes, but also children of God.

            I think Jesus wanted the disciples to understand that true community was hard, but it was worth it. I think Jesus wants us to know that as well. It is hard, it is messy, it is worth it. As we move forward together, may we move forward disillusioned with one another, aware of the messiness between us, ready to confront our conflicts, face our challenges and rejoice in our life together. And may roast beef never come between us.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

A Failure of Imagination

Matthew 16:21-28

September 3, 2017

            A disaster happens. Something unforeseen occurs. Even though every conceivable precaution has been taken, every known safeguard has been put in place, and every potential error and pitfall has been thought about, something goes wrong. Disaster strikes. Lives are lost. In the fallout, in the aftermath, when people are trying to understand why the tragedy happened, why the crisis occurred, someone says, “It was a failure of imagination.”

            These words were spoken in the HBO miniseries, “From the Earth to the Moon,” about NASA and putting a man on the moon. I believe it was after the fire in the capsule that took the lives of astronauts Gus Grissom, Ed White and Roger Chaffee. With everything the NASA engineers, scientists and controllers considered, they had not considered what would cause that fire. It was a failure of imagination.

            That same phrase has also been used to describe September 11, 2001. It is hard to believe that 16 years have passed since that terrible day in 2001. But I remember in the aftermath and the fallout of the days that followed, when the whole country was in shock and grief, that there were people who said it was a failure of imagination that brought us to that point. We just could not imagine that something of that scope, that devastating magnitude would take place. It was a failure of imagination.

            I’m not sure if Peter failed at imagination, but he certainly showed a lack of it. Last week we read the verses immediately preceding these. Peter answers Jesus’ question about who Jesus is with,

“You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

And for that correct answer Jesus rewarded Peter with these words,

“Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.”

In the verses we read this morning, from that moment on Jesus began to tell the disciples what it meant for him to be the Messiah, the Son of the living God. It meant suffering at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the scribes. It meant being killed, and being dead for three days. But on the third day, it meant being raised.

Peter heard this and was appalled. He pulled Jesus off to the side and rebuked Jesus, saying,

“God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you!”

But Jesus turned away from him. He didn’t thank Peter for caring. He didn’t reassure Peter that it would all be okay. He rebuked Peter.

“Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me, for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Get behind me, Satan? Satan? Peter has gone from being the rock, the foundation of the community of the faithful Jesus would build to a stumbling block. The Greek translated as “stumbling block” can also be translated as “scandal”. Peter’s words to Jesus were scandalous. Our ears hear the word “scandal,” as something lurid, but a scandal can also be something that causes others to fall away in their faith. So Peter’s words were indeed a stumbling block. He was, unwittingly, trying to pull Jesus away from Jesus’ divine purpose. From building rock to stumbling block, Jesus’ words must have devastated Peter. I picked the picture on the front of the bulletin because I thought it represented how Peter must have felt hearing them. Jesus’ back is to Peter with his hand pointing at him accusingly. Peter is on his knees, head bowed down in shame, hands up in a pleading gesture. I feel sorry for Peter. I know he was wrong to say what he said. But I don’t think he could imagine what Jesus was truly going to do. Even though he got it right when he confessed Jesus’ true identity, I think Peter had a failure of imagination when it came to understanding what that identity meant.

It’s commonly believed that Peter and the other disciples – and probably many people who felt compelled to follow Jesus – thought that he was a Messiah of the warrior/ heroic/kick butt variety. As Dr. David Lose wrote, if Jesus were that kind of Messiah, that warrior/savior, he would overthrow the violent Roman occupation with violence only to eventually be violently overthrown by someone else. The wheel of violence would just roll on and on. Jesus knew this. He knew that the only way to truly disrupt the wheel of violence was to allow himself to be crushed underneath it. He knew that he was not a Messiah in the worldly and earthly understanding. He was a Messiah who would not overthrow, but transform. He would not convert one form of violence into another; he would break through that violence – even if it meant that sacrificing himself to the violence. 

But Peter did not understand that. Peter could not imagine that. Peter could not see or envision anything beyond what he already knew – not yet anyway. It seems to me that when he rebuked Jesus, it was not so much out of anger or out of arrogance, it was out of fear. We are unable to hear tone or expression in the words we read, but imagine if you will Peter’s words sounding something like this, like someone who is in agony at what their beloved Rabbi is saying.

“God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you!”

As in, “Please Jesus, don’t say such things. Please don’t talk about your suffering and dying. I cannot bear to hear it. I cannot bear to think about it. I cannot bear to imagine it. It hurts too much.”

A failure of imagination; Peter could not bear to imagine the painful truths Jesus spoke. But beyond that, Peter and the other disciples could not imagine the reality that those truths would bring. That was the struggle for them every moment, every day they spent with Jesus. They could not imagine the reality of the kingdom Jesus spoke of. They could not imagine the reality of the world that could be when humans lived completely for God and for one another. They could not imagine true and perfect love, true and perfect peace. They could not imagine it until the power of the Holy Spirit came upon them – then their imaginations were given free rein.

True, even after the Holy Spirit came upon them, the disciples/apostles were limited in their imaginations. So are we, but with the power of the Spirit they had a bigger view of what the world could be, should be.

I think that we, the church, have been given that gift, that empowering of the Holy Spirit. I think we have been given the ability to imagine more than what we can see. We can imagine a world where we live completely for God and for one another. It’s funny; it is often in a crisis, in the aftermath of a failure of imagination, when we have those times, when those kingdom of God moments are truly visible. They were clear and visible on September 11^th. People stopped worrying about themselves and cared for each other. It is clear and visible in Houston right now, when you see images of ordinary folks rescuing other ordinary folks – not because they have to but because it is what you do for another human being. You see it in the video of people making a human chain to rescue an elderly man from his car that was swamped in water. How wonderful would our world be if we were intentional not only about imagining the kingdom of God, but working for it, not only when there is a crisis or a tragedy, but everyday? How wonderful would our world be if we put our imaginations to work envisioning peace – true, abiding peace, the peace of God, the shalom of the kingdom, and then we put aside our differences and worked to make it a reality? How wonderful would our world be if we imagined living in the peace of Christ and then worked to make it true?

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

"Get behind me, Satan!" Matthew 16:23

On This Rock

Matthew 16:13-20

August 27, 2017

            I talk with my hands. One day in college, one of my friends came up behind me to see if I wanted to go have coffee. She told me that she saw me across the quad – which was a good sized piece of lawn. She knew it was me even at a distance because I was talking to someone and gesturing all over the place. I don’t know why I do that. It doesn’t seem like other people in my family use their hands to talk as much as I do. I wonder about it, which is why I was so excited when my uncle Dudley, my mom’s older brother had his DNA tested. I have REALLY wanted to do this ever since I first started reading about these tests! It could explain so much. I grew up knowing that I was Swedish on my mother’s side and German on my dad’s. But it turns out that I am not just Swedish; I am also Finnish and Russian, a soupcon of United Kingdom, a dash of general Scandinavian and a smidgeon of Western European – whatever that means. If my mom’s DNA is more diverse than we could have possibly imagined who knows how diverse my dad’s DNA might be? Perhaps Italian? Perhaps there’s a genetic component to my gesturing? You never know.

            Why do I really want to know about my DNA? Probably for the same reason I have always been curious about my genealogy, and genograms and why I have taken the Meyers Briggs personality traits and preference test multiple times. I want to understand myself. I want to understand my family of origin. I want to know where I come from and who I come from. I want to know a little bit better who I am.

            Although the first chapter in Matthew’s gospel is not referenced here, I think it is important to remember what it contains. Matthew did not begin his story of Jesus by immediately sharing a birth narrative. He began with a genealogy. This was where Jesus came from through his father, Joseph. This was Jesus’ line, his ancestors, his history. For Matthew, telling his audience who Jesus was related to, who he was descended from, was also his way of setting the stage for telling them who he was. It was both a clue to Jesus’ identity and a justification for his identity. Not only was Jesus of divine origin, his human self could also be traced back through God’s chosen people as well: from Joseph to Abraham. His identity as the Son of David, the Son of Man, the Messiah both fully human and fully divine was firmly established. Matthew’s genealogy was a claim about Jesus’ identity.

            Now we come to this particular moment in the gospel. Jesus and the disciples have come into the district of Caesarea Philippi – the district of Caesar, the Empire – and Jesus asked them a question.

            “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”

            The disciples did not hesitate in their responses.

            “Some say, John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”

            Jesus did not let the question drop though.

            “But who do you say that I am?”

            In that moment Simon Peter made his famous confession of faith.

            “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

            In Mark’s gospel, the only other gospel that records this particular moment between Jesus and the disciples, Jesus responded to Peter by telling the disciples what being a Messiah meant – suffering and death. We will get to that part of the story next Sunday. But Matthew gave his listeners, his readers a pause. Jesus responded to Peter with affirmation.

            “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound on heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”

            Then the moment ended with the Messianic secret: don’t tell anyone what I’ve told you.

            For a moment, Peter got it right. Not only did he get it right, Jesus told him that on him – the rock – his church, the ecclesia – the community will be built. And Peter will hold the keys to the kingdom. Surely it is from this passage that we get our image of St. Peter as the gatekeeper to heaven. And is this not the passage that informs Roman Catholicism’s understanding of Peter as the first in line of succession for the leadership of the church?

            Peter. Petra. The rock. The foundation of the church. The basis of the community of disciples, the followers of the Way, the followers of the Christ. All this because in this moment Peter got it right. But if you know anything about what follows – and I don’t want to get ahead of myself – Peter does not always get it right. Not only will he get it wrong in the next verses that we read next week, but he will deny Jesus three times. In Acts, even after the power of the Holy Spirit has descended upon him, Peter will struggle with the vision he has from God about what is clean and what is unclean. Peter might be the rock upon which Jesus built his church, his gathering of disciples, but he was a flawed rock to be sure.

            But what was it that Peter said that was correct? When Jesus asked, “who do you say that I am?” Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.”

            The Living God; not a static, frozen deity; not a statue or an idol; the Messiah is a living God. Jesus told Peter that his answer, his correct answer, in fact came from God. It was revealed to Peter by God. That living God was very much alive and well and working in Peter in that moment. And because God was working in Peter, the church would be built on him. Yes, Peter was flawed. Yes, just as Peter got it really, really right, Peter was also going to get it really, really wrong. But the living God was not deterred by Peter’s flaws. The living God worked in and through Peter regardless. And a church would be built on that rock; that flawed but faithful rock.

            Peter was flawed, but when it came to understanding Jesus, albeit imperfectly, he experienced him as the Son of the Living God. He saw Jesus, even if just for a moment as who he truly was and is.

Who do you say that I am?

It seems to me that this is a question Jesus asks us as well. I don’t think this is a question that we are asked once, but over and over again. Because our God is a living God, we experience God and encounter God in so many different ways and settings. God meets us where we are.

Yet, we are not asked this question of identity just as individual believers. Aren’t we also asked that as the church? We have been asking ourselves the question, “Who are we as a congregation,” for the past two years and more. But perhaps what has really been happening is that through that question Jesus has been asking us, “Who do you say that I am?” Because the truth is, our identity as a congregation, as a church is not separate from our answer to that question. Our identity as a congregation is inextricably tied to our answer to that question. It is the basis of our spiritual DNA. It is the rock upon which we are built. How we answer matters. How we live based on that answer matters.

I don’t think that Peter was given the keys to the kingdom so that he could be a gatekeeper for eternity. I think that Jesus wanted Peter and the other disciples to understand that what we do on earth, what we do now, has an impact here and in heaven. What we do now affects the kingdom of heaven which is in our midst. This is not limited to that which is large and grand. Small acts of love, kindness, compassion reverberate through earth and through heaven. It seems to me that is what Jesus meant when he said what will be loosed will be loosed and what will be bound will be bound. Believing in the Living God means that our faith is also alive. It grows. It changes. It expands.

Jesus built his church, gathered his community, called together his followers on a rock of a man who was flawed, who would fail, who would misunderstand. But still he built. Still he gathered. Still he called. Our good news is that Jesus is still building his church, Jesus is still gathering his community, and Jesus is still calling together his followers. We are flawed, but through the grace of God, our faith continues to live. We are still asked the question, “Who do you say that I am?” And the Living God still works through us, opening our eyes, our minds and our hearts to the answer,

“You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.”

Thanks be to God. Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.